ODES 



UPON 



CASH, CORN, CATHOLICS, 



ODES 



UPON 



CASH, CORN, CATHOLICS, 



AND 



OTHER MATTERS, 



SELECTED FROM THE COLUMNS OF THE TIMES JOURNAL. 



"None but little minds dread little books." 

Figaro. 



CAREY, LEA & CAREY, CHESNUT STREET 

1828. ' 



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ffCu?'? U9 £» " 



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The following trifles, having enjoyed, in their 
circulation through the newspapers, all the cele- 
brity and length of life to which they were en- 
titled, would have been suffered to pass quietly 
into oblivion without pretending to any further 
distinction, had they not already been published, 
in a collective form, both in London and Paris, 
and, in each case, been mixed up with a number 
of other productions, to which, whatever may be 
their merit, the author of the following pages has 
no claim. A natural desire to separate his own 
property, worthless as it is, from that of others, 
is, he begs to say, the chief motive of the publica- 
tion of this volume. 



CONTENTS. 



Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government, Page 9 

Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One Pound Note, - 12 

An Expostulation to Lord King", 15 

The Sinking Fund cried, 19 

Ode to the Goddess Ceres, 22 

A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess, - 26 

Memorabilia of Last Week, --. 30 

All in the Family Way, - 34 

Ballad for the Cambridge Election, 38 

Mr. Roger Dodsworth, ---. 41 

Copy of an Intercepted Despatch, 44 

The Millennium, 48 

The Three Doctors, 52 

Epitaph on a Tuft-Hunter, 56 

Ode to a Hat, 58 

News for Country Cousins, 62 

A Vision, - 65 

The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland, 70 

Cotton and Corn, --- 74 

The Canonization of Saint B — tt — rw — th, 77 

An Incantation, ---- 81 

A Dream of Turtle, 85 

The Donkey and his Panniers, 88 

Ode to the Sublime Porte, 91 



Vlll 



Corn and Catholics, 93 

A Case of Libel, - 96 

Literary Advertisement, 101 

The Slave, ------- 105 

Ode to Ferdinand, 109 

Hat versus Wig, 112 

The Periwinkles and the Locusts, ---117 

New Creation of Peers, 121 

Speech on the Umbrella Question, 125 

A Pastoral Ballad, - 128 

A late Scene at Swanage, 132 

Wo! wo\ - •"- - - - 135 

Tout poor La Tripe, - - - - 139 

Enigma,-- - - 141 

Dog-day Reflections, -.-•"■ 144 

The "Living Dog" and the "Dead Lion," 148 

Ode to Don Miguel, 150 

Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland, - - - 153 

The Limbo of Lost Reputations, 155 

How to write by Proxy, 160 

Imitation of the Inferno of Dante, 163 

Lament for the Loss of Lord B st's Tail, - - - - 169 

The Cherries, 173 

Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat, 176 

Ode to the Woods and Forests, --- 179 

Stanzas from the Banks of the Shannon, 182 

"If" and "Perhaps," 185 

Write on, write on, 189 



AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK 
AND GOVERNMENT. 

Bank. 
Is all then forgotten? those amorous pranks 

You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, 
play'd; 
When you call'd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, 
And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made! 

When left to ourselves, unmolested and free, 

To do all that a dashing young couple should do, 

A law against paying was laid upon me, 

But none against owing, dear help-mate, on you. 



10 



And is it then vanish'd? — that "hour (as Othello 
So happily calls it,) of Love and Direction P"* 

And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow, 
Grow good in our old age, and cut the connexion? 

Government. 
Even so, my belov'd Mrs. Bank, it must be; 

This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing :f 
We 've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee 

There must soon be a stop to our bill-'mg and cooing. 

Propagation in reason, — a small child or two, — 
Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to; 

The issue of some folks is mod'rate and few, — 
But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there r s no end to! 



•" An hour 



Of love, of worldly matter and direction." 
f It appeal's, however, that Ovid was a friend to the resump- 
tion of payment in specie: 

finem, specie caeleste resumtd, 

Luctibus imposuit, venitque salutifcr urbi. 

Met. 1. 15, v. 743. 



11 



So, — hard as it is on a pair, who 've already 

Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence; 

And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy,* 
So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense, — 

The day is at hand, my Papyriaf Venus, 

When, — high as we once used to carry our capers, — 

Those soft billet-doux we 're now passing between us, 
Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in curl-papers: 

And when, — if we still must continue our love, 
After all that is past, — our amour, it is clear, 

Like that which Miss Danae managed with Jove, 
Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear ! 

February, 1826. 

* Honourable Frederick R — b — ns — n. 

f To distinguish her from the " Aurea" or Golden Venus. 



12 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND 
A ONE POUND NOTE. 

" O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres 
Agna lupos, capreaeque leones." Hor. 

Said a Sovereign to a Note, 

In the pocket of my coat, 
Where they met in a neat purse of leather, 

" How happens it, I prithee, 

" That, though I 'm wedded with thee, 
a Fair Pound, we can never live together ? 

" Like your sex, fond of change, 

u With Silver you can range, 
4< And of lots of young sixpences be mother ; 

" While with me — upon my word, 

" Not my Lady and my Lord 
«* Of W — st — th see so little of each other !" 



13 



The indignant Note replied, 

(Lying crumpled by his side) 
** Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir— 

" One cannot look askance, 

" But, whip ! you 're off to France, 
*' Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. 

" Your scampering began 
" From the moment Parson Van, 
"Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter; 
*' ' For better or for worse' 
"Is the usual marriage curse, 
*' But ours is all ' worse' and no ' better. ' 

"In vain are laws pass'd, 
"There 's nothing holds you fast, 

u Tho' you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you- 
" At the smallest hint in life, 
4 ' You forsake your lawful wife, 

44 As other Sovereigns did before you. 

2 



14 



il l flirt with Silver, true — 

"But what can ladies do, 
" When disown'd by their natural protectors ? 

"And as to falsehood, stuff! 

u I shall soon be false enough, 
"When I get among those wicked Bank Directors.' 1 

The Sovereign, smiling on her, 

Now swore, upon his honour, 
To be henceforth domestic and loyal; 

But, within an hour or two, 

Why — I sold him to a Jew, 
And he *s now at No. 10, Palais Royal. 



15 



AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. 
" Quern das finem, Rex magne, laborum?" — Virgil. 

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all 
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their 
corn,* 

When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 
'T is hardly worth while being very high born? 

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life, 
On a question, my Lord, there 's so much to abhor in ? 

A question — like asking one, u How is your wife ?" — 
At once so confounded domestic and foreign. 



* See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1, 
when Lord King was severely reproved by several of the noble 
Peers, for making so many speeches against the Corn Laws. 



16 



As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast, 
But Peers, and such animals, fed up for show, 

(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceased,) 
Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you 
know. 

You might see, my dear Baron, how bored and distrest 
Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale, 

When the force of the agony wrung ev'n a jest 
From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord L — d — le !* 

Bright Peer! to whom Nature and Berwickshire gave 
A humour, endow'd with effects so provoking, 

That, when the whole House looks unusually grave, 
You may always conclude that Lord L— d — le's 
joking ! 



* This noble Earl said, that " when he heard the petition came 
from ladies' boot and shoe-makers, he thought it must be against 
the * corns' which they inflicted on the fair sex." 



17 



And then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth — 
Not to know the vast difference Providence dooms 

Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth r 
'Twixt those who have Mr-looms, and those who've 
but looms ! 

To talk now of starving!' — as great Ath — 1 said — * 
(And the nobles all cheer'd, and the bishops all 
wonder'd) 

When, some years ago, he and others had fed 

Of these same hungry devils about fifteen hundred! 

It follows from hence — and the Duke's very words 
Should be publish'd wherever poor rogues of this 
craft are — 

That weavers, once rescued from starving by Lords,. 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever after. 

* The Duke of Athol said, that "at a former period, when 
these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of Perth, 
had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for these 
very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them." 

2* 



18 

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians 
Made " Bread and the Circus" a cure for each row; 

But not so the plan of our noble physicians, 

" No Bread and the Tread-mill V the regimen now. 

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose, 
As I shall my poetry — neither convinces; 

And all we have spoken and written but shows, 
When you tread on a nobleman's corn* how he 
winces. 

• An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s joke. 



19 



THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 



"Now what, we ask,. is become of this Sinking Fund — these 
eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which were to reduce 
the interest of the national debt by the amount of four hundred 
thousand pounds annually? Where, indeed, is the Sinking 
Fund itself Y'—The Times of Feb. 1. 



Take your bell, take your bell,. 

Good Crier, and tell 
To the Bulls and the Bears, till their ears are stunn'd, 

That, lost or stolen, 

Or fall'n through a hole in 
The Treasury floor,, is the Sinking Fund! 

O yes ! O yes ! 
Can any body guess 
What the deuce has become of this Treasury wonder ? 



*. 



20 



It has Pitt's name on 't, 
All brass, in the front, 
And R — b — ns< — n's, scrawl'd with a goose-quill, under. 

Folks well knew what 

Would soon be its lot,. 
When Frederick and Jenky sat, hob-nobbing,* 

And said to each other, 

" Suppose, dear brother, 
w We make this funny old Fund worth robbing." 

We are come, alas ! 

To a very pretty pass,-— 
Eight Hundred Millions of score, to pay,. 

With but Five Ln the till, 

To discharge the bill, 
And even that Five, too, whipp'd away ! 



* In 1824, when the Sinking Fund was raised by the impo- 
sition of new taxes to the sum of five millions. 



21 



Stop thief! stop thief! — 

From the Sub to the Chief, 
These Gemmen of Finance are plundering cattle — 

Call the watch — call Brougham, 

Tell Joseph Hume, 
That best of Charleys, to spring his rattle. 

Whoever will bring 

This aforesaid thing 
To the well-known House of Robinson and Jenkin r 

Shall be paid, with thanks, 

In the notes of banks, 
Whose Funds, too, have learn'd « the Art of Sinking." 

O yes! O yes! 

Can any body guess 
What the dev'l has become of this Treasury wonder? 

It has Pitt's name on 't, 

All brass, in the front, 
And R — b — ns — n's, scrawl'd with a goose-quill, under. 



22 



ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 
BY SIR T— M— S L— TH— E. 

"Legiferse Cereri Phceboque." — Virgil. 

Dear Goddess of Corn* whom the ancients, we know, 
(Among other odd whims of those comical bodies) 

Adorn'd with somniferous poppies, to show 

Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's 
Goddess.. 

Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee r 
An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches,. 

Great Queen of Mark-lane, (if the thing doesn't bore 
thee) 
Thou 'It read o'er the last of his — raet'er-last speeches. 

Ah ! Ceres, thou know'st not the slander and scorn 
Now heap'd upon England's 'Squirearchy, so 
boastedj 



23 



Improving on Hunt, 't is no longer the Corn, 

'T is now the Corn-growers, alas, that are roasted ! 

In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us— 

Reviewers, economists — fellows, no doubt, 
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus, 
And Gods of high fashion know little about. 

There 's B — nth — m, whose English is all his own 
making, — 
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation 
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking 
(What he, himself, calls) his rt post-prandial 
vibration."* 

There are two Mr. M lis, too, whom those that 

like reading 
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever; 

* The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. 



24 



And, whereas M 11 Senior makes war on good 

breeding, 
M -11 Junior makes war on all breeding whatever ! 

In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided 
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages; — 

With which of these classes we, landlords* have sided, 
Thou 'It find in my Speech, if thou 'It read afew pages. 

For therein I 've proved, to my own satisfaction, 
And that of all 'Squires I 've the honour of meeting, 

That 't is the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detraction 
To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating. 

On the contrary, such the " chaste notions"* of food 
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, 

They would scorn any law, be it ever so good, 

That would make thee, dear Goddess, less dear than 
thou art! 

• A phrase in one of Sir T s's late speeches. 



25 



And, oh ! for Monopoly what a blest day, 
When the Land and the Silk shall, in fond com- 
bination, 
(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play,*) 

Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and 
Starvation ! 

Long life to the Ministerl-^-no matter who, 

Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he 

Keeps the ports shut — and the people's mouths, too, — 
We shall all have a long run of .Freddy's prosperity. 

And, as for myself, who 've, like Hannibal, sworn 
To hate the whole crew who would take our rents 

from us, 
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn, 
That last, honest Uni-Cornf would be — Sir Th — s ! 

* " Road to Ruin." 

\ This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the 
natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be some- 
thing 1 between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's Cyclopaedia 
assures us, has a particular liking for every thing " chaste." 

3 



26 



A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE 
RECESS. 

" Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo." 

And now — cross-buns and pancakes o'er — 
Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more! 

Thrice hail and welcome, Houses Twain! 
The short eclipse of April-Day 
Having (God grant it!) pass'd away, 

Collective Wisdom, shine again! 

Come, Ayes and Nos, through thick and thin, 
With Paddy H — mes for whipper-in, 

Whate'er the job, prepared to back it; — 
Come, voters of Supplies — bestowers 
Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, 

At eighty mortal pounds the jacket!* 

* An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeavoured 
to get rid of: — trumpeters, it appears, like the men of All-Souls, 
must be " bene vestiti" 



27 



Come — free, at length, from joint-Stock cares — 
Ye Senators of many Shares, 

Whose dreams of premium. knew no boundary; 
So fond of aught like Company, 
That you would even have taken tea 

(Had you been ask'd) with Mr. Goundry.* 

Come, matchless country-gentlemen; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas, — wisest then, 

When creeds and corn-laws are debated ; 
Come, rival ev'n the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 

A 'Squire is transubstantiated. 

Come, L — derd — e, and tell the world, 
That — surely as thy scratch is curl'd, 

As never scratch was curl'd before — 



* The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his 
Joint-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing " Tt solo 
adoro." 



28 



Cheap eating does more harm than good, 
And working-people, spoil'd by food, 

The less they eat, will work the more. 

Come, G — lb — rn, with thy glib defence 
(Which thou 'dst have made for Peter's Pence) 

Of Church-Rates, worthy of a halter ; 
Two pipes of port {old port, 't was said 
By honest iVewport) bought and paid. 

By Papists for the Qrange Altar!* 

Come, H — rt — n, with thy plan, so merry. 
For peopling Canada from Kerry — 

Not so much rendering Ireland quiet. 
As grafting on the dull Canadians 
That liveliest of earth's contagions, 

The 6w//-pock of Hibernian riot! 

* This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine is 
a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their Catholic 
fellow-parishioners by the Irish Protestants. 

" The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
Doth ask a drink divine." 



29 



Come all, in short, ye wond'rous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again; 

Though short your absence, all deplore it- 
Oh, come and show, whate'er men say, 
That you can, after April-Day, 

Be just as — sapient as before it. 



<** 



30 



MEMORABILIA OF LAST W£EK. 

MONDAY, MARCH 13- 

The Budget — quite charming and witty; — no hearing, 
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were 
in it; — 

Great comfort to find, though the Speech is n't cheering. 
That all its gay auditors were, every minute. 

What, still more prosperity! — mercy upon us, 

"This boy '11 be the death of me" — oft as, already 

Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, 
For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers, 
Lest— calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts— 



31 

The large stock of gold we 're to have in three 
years, 
Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets!!* 



WEDNESDAY. 

Little doing-r-for sacred,, oh Wednesday, thou art 
To the seven-o'clock joys of full many a table, — 

When the Members all meet, to make much of that 
part, 
With which they so rashly fell ou V in the Fable. 

It appear'd, though, to-night,..that— -as churchwardens, 
yearly, 
Eat up a small baby — those cormorant sinners, 



* " Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it pro- 
duced a greater number of highway robberies." — Debate in the 
Lords. 



32 



The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very nearly 
A mod'rate-sized bankrupt, tout chaud, for their 
dinners !* 

Nota bene — a rumour to-day, in the City, 

"Mr. R — b — ns — n just has resigned"— what a 

pity! 
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, 
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin; 
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, 
A murmuring Stock-do\e breathed her ditty: — 

Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long 

And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow; 
But his note was small, and the gold-finch's song 

Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. 

Who '11 make his shroud ? 



* Mr. Abercromby's statement of the enormous tavern bills of 
the Commissioners of Bankrupts. 



33 



"I," said the Bank, "though he play'd me a prank, 
"While I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll'd in't, 

"With many a pound I '11 paper him round, 
44 Like a plump rouleau— without the gold in't." 



34 



ALL IN THE FAMILY WAY, 

A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD. 

(Sung in the character of Britannia.) 

"The Public Debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and re- 
solves itself into a Family Account." — Sir Robert Peel's Letter. 



Tune — My banks are all furnish? d with bees. 



My banks are all furnish'd with rags, 

So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em; 
I 've torn up my old money-bags, 

Having little or nought to put in 'em. 
My tradesmen are smashing by dozens, 

But this is all nothing, they say ; 
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins,- 

So, it 's all in the family way. 



35 



My Debt not a penny takes from me, 

As sages the matter explain; — 
Bob owes it to Tom, and then Tommy 

Just owes it to Bob back again. 
Since all have thus taken to owing, 

There 's nobody left that zvxipay; 
And this is the way to keep going, 

All quite in the family way. 

My senators vote away millions, 

To put in Prosperity's budget; 
And though it were billions or trillions, 

The generous rogues wouldn't grudge it. 
'T is all but a family hop, 

'Twas Pitt began dancing the hay; 
Hands round! — why the deuce should we stop? 

'T is all in the family way. 

My labourers used to eat mutton, 
As any great man of the State does; 



36 



And now the poor devils are put on 
Small rations of tea and potatoes. 

But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddys 
The King is your father, they say ; 

So, ev'n if you starve for your Daddy, 
'T is all in the family way. 

My rich manufacturers tumble, 

My poor ones have nothing to chew; 
And, ev'n if themselves do not grumble-, 

Their stomachs undoubtedly do. 
But coolly to fast en famille^ 

Is as good for the soul as to pray-; 
And famine itself is genteel, 

When one starves in a family way. 

I have found out a secret for Freddy, 
A secret for next Budget day; 

Though, perhaps, he may know it already, 
As he, too 's a sage in his way. 



37 



When next for the Treasury scene he 
Announces "the Devil to pay," 

Let him write on the bills, " Nota bene, 
a 'T is all in the family way. " 



38 



BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE 
ELECTION. 



" I authorized my Committee to take the step which they did, 
of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understand- 
ing that whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest, 
should give way to the other." — Extract from Mr. TV. J. 
Bankes's Letter to Mr. Goulburn. 



B — nkes is weak, and G — lb — rn too, 
No one e'er the fact denied; — 

Which is "weakest" of the two, 
Cambridge can alone decide. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

G — It) — rn of the Pope afraid is, 
B — nkes, as much afraid as he; 



39 



Never yet did two old ladies 

On this point so well agree. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different mode pursues, 

Each the same conclusion reaches; 

B — nkes is foolish in Reviews, 

G — lb — rn, foolish in his speeches. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different foe doth damn, 

When his own affairs have gone ill; 

B — nkes he damneth Buckingham, 
G — lb — rn damneth Dan O'Connell. 

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Once, we know, a horse's neigh 
Fix'd th' election to a throne; 



40 



So, whichever first shall bray, 

Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own. 
Choose him, choose him by his bray, 
Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 
June, 1826. 



41 



MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 

Sir, — Having just heard of the wonderful resurrection of Mr. 
Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where he had re- 
mained, Men frappt, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten to 
impart to you a few reflections on the subject. — Yours, &c. 

Laudator Temjporis Acti. 

What a lucky turn-up! — just as Eld — n's with- 
drawing", 

To find thus a gentleman, froz'n in the year 
Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing, 

To serve for our times quite as well as the Peer; — 

To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom alone 
Of our Ancestors, such as we find it on shelves, 

4* 



42 



But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown, 
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves ! 

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him safe home, — 

Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way; 
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him 
come, 
And our Tories will hail him with "Hear!" and 
"Hurra!" 

What a God-send to them ! — a good, obsolete man, 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader $ — 

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you can, 

And the L — nsd — les and H — rtf — rds shall choose 
him for leader. 

Yes, Sleeper of Ages, thou shalt be their Chosen; 

And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men, 
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen, 

So alter'd, thou hardly wilt know it again. 



43 



And Eld — n will weep o'er each sad innovation 
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he 

Has been also laid up in a long congelation, 

And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee. 



44 



COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DESPATCH. 



FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, ENVOY 
EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MAJESTY. 

-» 

St. James's-street, July 1. 
Great Sir, having just had the good luck to catch 

An official young Demon, preparing to go, 
Ready booted and spurr'd, with a black-leg despatch 
From the Hell here, at Cr — ckf — rd's, to our Hell, 
below — 

I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic, 
To say that, first having obey'd your directions, 

And done all the mischief I could in "the Panic," 
My next special care was to help the Elections. 



45 



Well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul, 
When ev'ry good Christian tormented his brother, 

And caused, in thy realm, such a saving of coal, 
From coming down, all ready grilPd by each other; 

Rememb'ring, besides, how it pain'd thee to part 
With the Old Penal Code — that chef-d'oeuvre of Law, 

In which (though to own it too modest thou art) 
We could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy claw; 

I thought, as we ne'er can those good times revive, 
(Though Eld-n, with help from your Highness, 
would try) 

'T would still keep a taste for Hell's music alive, 
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Popery cry; — 

That yell which, when chorus'd by laics and clerics, 
So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone, 

That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, 
To think that Religion should make it her own. 



46 



So, having sent down for th' original notes 

Of the Chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir, 

With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats 

Of myself and some others, who sing it "with fire,"* 

Thought I, 4 ' if the Marseillois Hymn could command 
M Such audience, though yell'd by a Sans-culotte crew, 

1,4 What wonders shall we do, who 've men in our band, 
"That not only wear breeches, but petticoats too." 

Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, your 
Highness, 

I 'm forced to confess — be the cause what it will, 
Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shyness, — 

Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill. 

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key, 
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; 

* Confuoco — a music-book direction. 



47 



And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee 
At the York music-meeting, now think it precarious. 

Even some of our Reverends might have been warmer, — 
Though one or two capital roarers we 've had; 

Doctor Wise* is, for instance, a charming performer, 
And Huntingdon Maberley's yell was not bad ! 

Altogether, however, the thing was not hearty;— 
Even Eld-n allows we got on but so so; 

And when next we attempt a No-Popery party, 
We must, please your Highness, recruit from below. 

But, hark, the young Black-leg is cracking his whip — 
Excuse me, Great Sir — there's no time to be civil; — 

The next opportunity shan't be let slip, 
But, till then, 

I 'm, in haste, your most dutiful 

DEVIL. 

July, 1826. 

* This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the Read- 
ing election. 



48 



THE MILLENNIUM. 

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR. 
IRV-NG "ON PROPHECY." 

A Millennium at hand!— I 'm delighted to hear it — 
As matters, both public and private, now go, 

With multitudes round us all starving, or near it, 
A good, rich Millennium will come a propos. 

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold, 
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, 

A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold, 

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags — 

A City, where wine and cheap corn* shall abound, — 
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves 

* "A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of 
barley for a penny." — Rev. c. 6. 



49 



We may swear the best things of this world will be 
found, 
As your Saints seldom fail to take care of them- 
selves ! 

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures Elysian,* 
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach 

Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision, 
Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each; — 

Thanks, thanks for the hope thou hast given, 

that we 
May, ev'n in our own times, a Jubilee share, 

Which so long has been promised by prophets like 

thee, 

And so often postponed, we begin to despair. 



* See the Oration of this reverend gentleman, where he de- 
scribes the connubial joys of Paradise, and paints the angels 
hovering round " each happy fair." 

5 



50 



There was Whiston,* who learnedly took Prince 
Eugene 

For the man who must bring the Millennium about; 
There 's Faber, whose 'pious predictions have been 

All belied, ere his book's first edition was out; — 

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., 
Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat, 

And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see 

A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh If 

There was also — but why should I burden my lay 
With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less 
deserving, 

* When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay in 
which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks with 
Revelation, the Prince is said to have replied, that " he was not 
aware he had ever had the honour of being known to St John." 

f Mr. Dobbs was a Member of the Irish Parliament, and, on 
all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible person: he 
chose Armagh as the scene of his Millennium, on account of the 
name Armageddon, mentioned in Revelation. 



51 



When all past Millenniums henceforth must give away 
To that last new Millennium of Orator Irv-ng. 

Go on, mighty man, — doom them all to the shelf,— 
And when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy 
sconce, 
Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself 
Art the Beast (Chapter 4) that sees nine ways at 
once. 



52 



THE THREE DOCTORS. 

Doctoribus Izetamur tribus. 

Though many great Doctors there be, 
There are three that all Doctors out-top, 

Doctor Eady, that famous M. D., 

Doctor S y, and dear Doctor Slop. 

The purger — the proser — the bard — 
All quacks in a different style; 

Doctor S y writes books by the yard, 

Doctor Eady writes puffs by the mile! 

Doctor Slop, in no merit outdone 

By his scribbling or physicking brother, 



53 



Can dose us with stuff like the one, 

Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other. 

Doctor Eady good company keeps 

With " No Popery" scribes on the walls; 

Doctor S y as gloriously sleeps 

With "No Popery" scribes, on the stalls. 

Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 

Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, 
That, if Eady should take the mad line, 

He '11 be sure of a patient in Slop. 

Seven millions of Papists, no less, 

Doctor S y attacks, like a Turk;* 

* This Seraphic Doctor, in the preface to his last work ( Vin- 
diciae Ecclesise JLnglicanae,) is pleased to anathematize not only 
all Catholics, but all advocates of Catholics: — "They have for 
their immediate allies (he says) every faction that is banded 
against the State, every demagogue, every irreligious and sedi- 
tious journalist, every open and every insidious enemy to Mon- 
archy and to Christianity." 

5* 



54 

Doctor Eady, less bold, I confess, 
Attacks but his maid-of-all-work.* 

Doctor S — y, for his grand attack, 

Both a laureate and senator is; 
While poor Doctor Eady, alack, 

Has been had up to Bow-street, for his ! 

And truly, the law does so blunder, 

That, though little blood has been spilt, he 

May probably suffer as, under 

The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. 

So much for the merits sublime 

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) 
Of the three greatest lights of our time, 

Doctors Eady and S y and Slop! 



* See the late accounts in the newspapers of the appearance of 
this gentleman at one of the Police-offices, in consequence of an 
alleged assault on his "maid-of-all-work." 



55 



Should you ask me, to which of the three 
Great Doctors the preference should fall, 

Asa matter of course, I agree 
Doctor Eady must go to the wall. 

But as S y with laurels is crown'd, 

And Slop with a wig and a tail is, 

Let Eady's bright temples be bound 
With a swingeing "Corona Muralis'."* 



* A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to persons 
who performed any extraordinary exploits upon watts, such as 
scaling them, battering them, &c. — No doubt, writing upon them, 
to the extent Dr. Eady does, would equally establish a claim to 
the honour. 



56 



EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. 

Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, 

Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, 

For here lies one, who ne'er preferred 
A Viscount to a Marquis yet. 

Beside him place the God of Wit, 

Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, 
Apollo for a star he 'd quit, 

And Love's own sister for an Earl's. 

Did niggard fate no peers afford, 

He took, of course, to peers' relations; 

And, rather than not sport a Lord, 
Put up with ev'n the last creations. 

Ev'n Irish names, could he but tag 'em 

With "Lord" and " Duke," were sweet to call; 



57 

And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum 
Was better than no Lord at all. 

Heav'n grant him now some noble nook, 
For,. rest his soull he'd rather be 

Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke, 
Than saved in vulgar company. 



58 



ODE TO A HAT. 



-altum 



"JEdificat caput." — Juvexal. 

Hail, reverend Hat! — sublime 'mid all 
The minor felts that round thee grovel; — 

Thou, that the Gods "a Delta" call, 

While meaner mortals call thee " shovel." 

When on thy shape (like pyramid, 

Cut horizontally in two)* 
I raptured gaze,, what dreams, unbid, 

Of stalls and mitres bless my view! 



* So described by a Reverend Historian of the Church: — "A 
Delta hat, like the horizontal section of a pyramid." — Grant's 
History of the English Church. 



59 



That brim of brims, so sleekly good, — 

Not fiapp'd, like dull Wesleyan's down, 
But looking (as all churchmen's should,) 

Devoutly upward — tow'rds the croivn. 
Gods! when I gaze upon that brim, 

So redolent of church all over, 
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim, 
Some, pig-taiFd — some, like cherubim, 

With ducklings' wings — around it hover ! 
Tenths of all dead and living things, 
That Nature into being brings, 
From calves and corn to chitterlings. 

Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks, 
The very cock most orthodox, 
To which, of all the well-fed throng 
Of Zion,* joy'st thou to belong? 



* Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church Establish- 
ment of Ireland "the little Zion." 



60 



Thou 'rt not Sir Harcout Lees's — no — 

For hats grow like the heads that wear 'em; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 

Particularly harum-scarum. 
Who knows but thou may'st deck the pate 
Of that famed Doctor Ad — mth — te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland,) 
Who changed so quick from blue to yellow, 

And would from yellow back to blue, 
And back again, convenient fellow, 

If 't were his interest so to do. 

Or, haply, smartest of triangles, 

Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow — n; 

The hat that, to his vestry wrangles, 
That venerable priest doth go in, — 

And, then and there, amid the stare 

Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair, 



61 



And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, 
Th' example of his reverend brothers, 

To prove that priests all fleece their flocks, 
And he must fleece as well as others. 

Blest Hat! (whoe'er thy lord may be) 
Thus low I take off mine to thee, 
The homage of a layman's castor, 
To the spruce delta of his pastor. 
Oh may'st thou be, as thou proceed'st, 

Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the brighter 
Till, bowing all the way, thou lead'st 

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre! 



62 



NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 



Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, 
When Parliament 's up, ever take in a paper, 
But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends 
As you chance to pick up from political friends, — 
Being one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down 
To transmit you the last newest news that 's in town. 

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things could n't 
look better — 
His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster) 
Has just taken Rhodes, and despatch'd off a letter 

To Daniel O'Connell, to make him Grand Master; 
Engaging to change the old name, if he can, 
n'rom the Knights of St. John to the Knights of St. 
Dan; — 



63 



Or, if Dan should prefer (as a still better whim) 
Being made the Colossus, 't is all one to him. 

From Russia the last accounts are that the Czar,— 
Most gen'rous and kind, as all sovereigns are, 
And whose first princely act (as you know, I suppose) 
Was to give away all his late brother's old clothes*-— 
Is now busy collecting, with brotherly care, 

The late Emperor's night-caps, and thinks of 
bestowing 
One night-cap a-piece (if he has them to spare) 

On all the distinguished old ladies now going. 
(While I write, an arrival from Riga — the 'Brothers' — 
Having night-caps on board for Lord Eld-n and others.) 

Last advices from India — Sir Archy, 't is thought, 
Was near catching a Tartar (the first ever caught 



* A distribution was made of the Emperor Alexander's mili ; 
tary w?*. iobe by his successor. 



64 l 



In N. Lat. 21) — and his Highness Burmese, 
Being very hard press'd to shell out the rupees, 
And not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant 
To pawn his august Golden Foot* for the payment. 
(How lucky for monarchs,that thus, when they choose, 
Can establish a running account with the Jews !) 
The security being what Rothschild calls "goot," 
A loan will be shortly, of course, set on foot ; 
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co. 
With three other great pawnbrokers; each takes a toe, 
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us /eg-bail, 
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail. 

This is all for the present, — what vile pens and paper ! 
Yours truly, dear Cousin, — best love to Miss Draper. 
September, 1826. 

• This Potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Golden 
Foot. 



65 



A VISION. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL. 

"Up!" said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray 
One hasty orison, whirl'd me away 
To a Limbo, lying — I wist not where — 
Above or below, in earth or air ; 
For it glimmered o'er with a doubtful light, 
One couldn't say whether 'twas day or night; 
And 'twas crost by many a mazy track, 
One didn't know how t„o get on or back; 
And I felt like a needle that's going astray 
(With its one eye out) through a bundle of hay; 
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whisper'd me, 
44 Thou 'rt now in the Court of Chancery !" 

6 * 



66 



Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms 

Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms; 

(Like bottled-up babes, that grace the room 

Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home) — 

All of them, things half-kill'd in rearing ; 

Some were lame — some wanted hearing ; 

Some had through half a century run, 

Though they had n't a leg to stand upon. 

Others, more merry, as just beginning, 

Around on a. point of law were spinning; 

Or balanced aloft, 'twixt Bill and Answer, 

Lead at each end, like a tight-rope dancer. — 

Some were so cross, that nothing could please 'emj- 

Some gulpM down affidavits to ease 'em ; — 

All were in motion, yet never a one, 

Let it move as it might, could -ever move on. 

"These," said the Spirit, " you plainly see, 

" Are what they call suits in Chancery I" 

I heard a loud screaming of old and young, 
Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis sung; 



67 



Or an Irish Dump (" the words by Moore") 

At an amateur concert scream'd in score ; — 

So harsh on my ear that wailing fell 

Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwell ! 

It seem'd like the dismal symphony 

Of the shapes i£neas in hell did see; 

Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook 

Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook,. 

To cry all night, till life's last dregs, 

u Give us our legs ! — give us our legs !" 

Touch 'd with the sad and sorrowful scene,. 

I ask'd what all this yell might mean, 

When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee,. 

" 'T is the cry of the Suitors in Chancery 1" 

I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise,. 
With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes.. 
In his aged hand he held a wand, 
Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band, 



68 



And they moved and moved, as he waved it o'er, 

But they never got on one inch the more. 

And still they kept limping to and fro, 

Like Ariels round old Prospero— 

Saying, " Dear Master, let us go," 

But still old Prospero ansvver'd "No." 

And I heard, the while, that wizard elf 

Muttering, muttering spells to himself, 

While o'er as many old papers he turn'd, 

As Hume e'er moved for, or Omar burn'd. 

He talk'd of his virtue — " though some, less nice, 

(He own'd with a sigh) preferred his Vice"— 

And he said, "I think"— " I doubt"— " I hope," 

Call'd God to witness, and damn'cl the Pope; 

With many more sleights of tongue and hand 

I could n*t, for the soul of me, understand. 

Amazed and posed, I was just about 

To ask his name, when the screams without, 



69 



The merciless clack of the imps within, 
And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, 
That, startled, I woke — leap'd up in my bed — 
Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled, 
And bless'd my stars, right pleased to see, 
That I was n't, as yet, in Chancery. 



70 



THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN OF 
IRELAND. 

To the People of England, the humble Petition 
Of Jreland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing — 

That sad, very sad, is our present condition; — 
Our jobbing all gone, and our noble selves going; — 

That, forming one seventh — within a few fractions — 
Of Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, 

We hold it the basest of all base transactions 

To keep us from murd'ring the other six parts;— 

That, as to laws made for the good of the many, 
We humbly suggest there is nothing less true; 

As all human laws (and our own, more than any) 
Are made by and for a particular few; — 

That much it delights ev'ry true Orange brother, 
To see you, in England, such ardour evince 



71 



In discussing which sect most tormented the other, 
And burn'd with most gusto, some hundred years 
since ; — 

That we love to behold, while old England grows faint, 
Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh coming to blows, 

To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied Saint, 
Ever truly and really pull'd the Devil's nose; 

Whether t'other Saint, Dominic, burnt the Devil's 
paw— 
Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mo- 
ther — * 
And many such points, from which Southey can draw 
Conclusions most apt for our hating each other. 

That 't is very well known this devout Irish nation 
Has now, for some ages, gone happily on, 

* To such important discussions as these the greater part of 
Dr. Southey's Vindiciae Eccksiase Anglicanae is devoted. 



72 



Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, 
One party in Trans and the other in Con;* 

That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right 
Of the said monosyllable, ravaged the lands, 

And embezzled the goods, and annoy'd, day and night, 
Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for 
Trans; — 

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such sages, 
For keeping us still in the same state of mind ; 

Pretty much as the world used to be in those ages, 
When still smaller syllables madden M mankind ; — 

When the words ex and joerf did as well, to annoy 
One's neighbours and friends with, as con and trans 
now; 

* Con substantiation — the true Reformed belief; at least, the 
belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of Melancthon also. 

f When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the time 
this dispute between "ex" and "per" was going on,) he found 



73 



And Christians, like Southey, who stickled for 01, 
Cut the throats of all Christians, who stickled for 
ou.* 

That, relying on England, whose kindness already 
So often has help'd us to play this game o'er, 

We have got our red coats and our carabines ready, 
And wait but the word to show sport, as before. 

That, as to the expense — the few millions, or so, 
Which for all such diversions John Bull has to pay — 

'T is, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know 
That to Orangemen's pockets 't will all find its way. 
For which your petitioners ever will pray, 

Sec. Sec. Sec. Sec. Sec. 



the Turks, we are told, " laughing at the Christians for being 
divided by two such insignificant particles." 

* The Arian controversy. — Before that time, says Hooker, "in 
order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not curious 
what syllables or particles of speech they used." 



74 



COTTON AND CORN. 

A DIALOGUE. 

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day, 

As they met and exchanged a salute — 

(Squire Corn in his carriage so gay, 
Poor Cotton, half famish'd, on foot:) 

" Great Squire, if it is n't uncivil 
"To hint at starvation before you, 

"Look down on a poor hungry devil, 

"And give him some bread, I implore you I" 

Quoth Corn then, in answer to Cotton, 
Perceiving he meant to make/ree, — 

"Low fellow, you 've surely forgotten 
u The distance between you and me ! 



75 



" To expect that we, Peers of high birth, 
" Should waste our illustrious acres, 

" For no other purpose on earth 
"Than to fatten curst calico-makers ! — 

"That Bishops to bobbins should bend — 

"Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity, 
li Great dealers in lawn, to befriend 
"Such contemptible dealers in dimity! 

"No — vile Manufacture! ne'er harbour 
"A hope to be fed at our boards; — 

"Base offspring of Arkwright the barber, 
"What claim canst thou have upon Lords? 

"No — thanks to the taxes and debt, 

"And the triumph of paper o'er guineas, 

"Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet, 

"May defy your whole rabble of Jennys!" 



76 



So saying, — whip, crack, and away 

Went Corn in his chaise through the throng, 
So headlong, I heard them all say, 

s< Squire Corn would be down, before long." 



77 



THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT 
B— TT— RW— RTH. 

"A Christian of the best edition." — Rabelais. 

Canonize him!-— yea, verily, we '11 canonize him; 

Though Cant is his hobby, and meddling his bliss, 
Though sages may pity and wits may despise him, 

He '11 ne'er make a bit the worse Saint for all this. 

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet spread 

The dominion of Humbug o'er land and o'er sea, 

Descend on our B-tt-rw-rth's biblical head, 
Thrice-Great, Bibliopolist, Saint, and M. P.! 

Come, shade of Joanna, come down from thy sphere, 
And bring little Shiloh — if 't is n't too far — 

Such a sight will to B-tt-rw-rth's bosom be dear, 
His conceptions and thine being much on a par. 

7* 



78 



Nor blush, Saint Joanna, once more to behold 
A world thou hast honour'd by cheating- so many; 

Thou 'It find still among us one Personage old, 
Who also by tricks and the Seals* makes a penny. 

Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother Leelf 
Thy smiles to beatified B-tt-rw-rth deign ; 

Two " lights of the Gentiles" are thou, Anne and he, 
One hallowing Fleet-street, and /' other Toad-lane!} 

The Heathen, we know, made their Gods out of wood, 
And Saints, too, are framed of as handy materials; — 

Old women and B-tt-rw-rths make just as good 
As any the Pope ever book'd as Ethereals. 

* A great part of the income of" Joanna Southcott arose from 
the Seals of the Lord's protection which she sold to her followers. 

j- Mrs. Anne Lee, the " chosen vessel" of the Shakers, and 
" Mother of all the children of regeneration." 

£ Toad-lane in Manchester, where Mother Lee was born. In 
her " Address to Young Believers," she says that " it is a matter 
of no importance with them from whence the means of their de- 
liverance come, whether from a stable in Bethlehem, or from 
Toad-Ian e, Manchester. " 



79 



Stand forth, Man of Bibles! — not Mahomet's pigeon, 
When, perch'd on the Koran, he dropp'd there, 
they say, 

Strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion 
Such glory as B-tt-rw-rth sheds every day. 

Great Galen of souls, with what vigour he crams 
Down Erin's idolatrous throats, till they crack again, 

Bolus on bolus, good man !^and then damns 

Both their stomachs and souls, if they dare cast 
them back again. 

How well might his shop — as a type representing 
The creed of himself and his sanctified clan — 

On its counter exhibit "the Art of Tormenting," 
Bound neatly, and letter'd " Whole Duty of 

Man!" 

Canonize him! — by Judas, we will canonize him; 
For Cant is his hobby and twaddling his bliss; 



80 



And, though wise men may pity and wits may despise 
him, 

c 

He '11 make but the better shop-saint for all this. 

Call quickly together the whole tribe of Canters, 
Convoke all the serious Tag-rag of the nation; 

Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jumpers and Ranters, 
To witness their B-tt-rw-rth's Canonization! 

Yea, humbly I 've ventured his merits to paint, 
Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray; 

And they form a sum-total for making a Saint, 
That the Devil's own Advocate could not gainsay. 

Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters all roar, 
While B-tt-rw-rth's spirit, sublimed from your eyes, 

Like a kite made of fool's-cap, in glory shall soar, 
With a long tail of rubbish behind, to the skies ! 



81 



AN INCANTATION. 



SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT 



Air. — Come with me, and we will go 
Where the rocks of coral grow. 



Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go; 
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope 
Drew from fancy— or from soap; 
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent 
From its frothy element! 
Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go. 



82 

Mix the lather, Johnny W — Iks, 
Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks;* 
Mix the lather — who can be 
Fitter for such task than thee, 
Great M. P. for Sudsbury ! 

Now the frothy charm is ripe, 
Puffing Peter, bring thy pipe, — 
Thou, whom ancient Coventry 
Once so dearly loved, that she 
Knew not which to her was sweeter, 
Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter; — 
Puff the bubbles high in air, 
Puff thy best to keep them there. 

Bravo, bravo, Peter M — re! 
Now the rainbow humbugsf soar, 

* Strong- indications of character may be sometimes traced in 
the rhymes to names. Marvell thoug-ht so, when he wrote 
" Sir Edward Sutton, 
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton." 
\ An humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who, in a 



83 

Glittering all with golden hues, 
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;-— 
Some, reflecting mines that lie 
Under Chili's glowing sky, 
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 
Cloister'd in the southern deep ; 
Others, as if lent a ray 
From the streaming Milky Way, 
Glistening o'er with curds and whey 
* From the cows of Alderney. 

Now 's the moment — who shall first 
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst? 
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, 
B — gd — n, T — ynh — m, P— 1m — t — n; — 
John W — Iks junior runs beside ye ! 
Take the good the knaves provide ye!* 

poem against War, after describing the splendid habiliments of 
the soldier, thus apostrophizes him — "thou rainbow ruffian!" 
* "Lovely Thais sits beside thee: 

Take the good the Gods provide thee." 



84 



See, with upturn'd eyes and hands, 
Where the Shoreman* Br— gd — n, stands, 
Gaping for the froth to fall 
Down his gullet — lye and all. 

See! 

But, hark, my time is out — 
Now, like some great water-spout, 
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder, 
Burst ye bubbles, all asunder! 

[Here the stage darkens, — a discordant crash is heard from 
the orchestra — the broken bubbles descend in a saponaceous but 
uncleanly mist over the heads of the Dramatis Personse, and the 
scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters all in the suds, ] 



* So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the ch, in the 
word "Chairman." 



85 



A DREAM OF TURTLE. 
BY SIR W. CURTIS. 

'T was evening time, in the twilight sweet 
I sail'd along, when — whom should I meet 
But a Turtle journeying o 'er the sea 
"On the service of his Majesty."* 

When I spied him first through twilight dim, 

I did n't know what to make of him; 

But said to myself, as slow he plied 

His fins, and roll'd from side to side 

Conceitedly o'er the watery path — 

u 'T is my Lord df St-w-11 taking a bath, 

* We are told that the passport of the late grand diplomatic 
Turtle described him as " on his Majesty's service." 

dapibus supremi 

Grata testudo Jovis. 

8 



86 



"And I hear him now, among the fishes, 
u Quoting Vatel and BurgersdiciusI" 

But, no— 't was, indeed, a Turtle, wide 
And plump as ever these eyes descried; 
A Turtle, juicy as ever yet 
Glued up the lips of a Baronet ! 
And much did it grieve my soul to see. 
That an animal of such dignity, 
Like an absentee abroad should roam, 
When he ought to stay and be ate at home. 

But now " a change came o'er my dream," 
Like the magic lantern's shifting slider; 
I look'd, and saw, by the evening beam, 

On the back of that Turtle sat a rider, — 
A goodly man, with an eye so merry, 
I knew 't was our Foreign Secretary, 
Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile, 
Like Waterton on his crocodile; 



87 



Cracking such jokes, at every motion, 
As made the Turtle squeak with glee, 

And own they gave him a lively notion 
Of what his forced-meat balls would be. 

So, on the Sec. in his glory went, 

Over that briny element, 

Waving his hand as he took farewell, 

With graceful air, and bidding me tell 

Inquiring friends, that the Turtle and he 

Were gone on a foreign embassy — 

To soften the heart of a JDiplomate, 

Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 

And to let admiring Europe see, 

That calipash and calipee 

Are the English forms of Diplomacy. 



88 



THE DONKY AND HIS PANNIERS. 



A FABLE, 



"fessus jam sudat asellus, 



"Parce illi; vestrum delirium est asinus." — Virgil. Copa. 



A Donky, whose talent for burdens was wond'rous, 
So much, that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load, 

One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous, 
That — down the poor Donky fell smack on the 
road ! 

His owners and drivers stood round in amaze — 
What ! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy, 

So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways, 
For every description of job-work so ready ! 



89 



One driver (whom Ned might have "hail'd" as a 
"brother"*) 
Had just been proclaiming his Donky's renown 
For vigour, for spirit, for one thing or other— 
When, Io, ? mid his praises, the Donky came down! 

But, how to upraise him? — one shouts, f other whistles, 
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all, 

Declared that an " over-production of thistles — f 
(Here Ned gave a stare) — was the cause of his fall." 

Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes — 

u There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease ; 

" The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, 
" And this is his mode of ' transition to peace." 

* Alluding to an early poem of Mr. Coleridge's, addressed to 
an Ass, and beginning, "I hail thee, brother!" 

f A certain country gentleman having said in the House, 
" that we must return at last to the food of our ancestors," some- 
body asked Mr. T. "what food the gentleman meant?" — 
"Thistles, I suppose," answered Mr. T. 

8* 



90 



Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learned grimaces, 
Pronounced that too long without shoes he had 
gone— 

" Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis, 
(The wise-acres said,) " and he 's sure to jog on." 

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, 
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan, 

And — what was still dolefuller — lending an ear 
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his own. 

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far 

As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he passed — 
" Quick — off with the panniers, all dolts as you are, 
" Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his 
last!" 
October, 1826. 



91 



ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 



Great Sultan, how wise are thy State compositions ! 

And oh, above all, I admire that Decree, 
In which thou command'st, that all she politicians 

Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea. 

'T is my fortune to know a lean Benthamite spinster — 
A maid ? who her faith in old Jeremy puts; 

Who talks, with a lisp, of" the last new Westminster," 
And hopes you 're delighted with "Mill upon 
Gluts;" 

Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun-blank is, 
How charming his Articles 'gainst the Nobility; — 

And assures you that even a gentleman's rank is, 
In Jeremy's school, of no sort of utility. 

To see her, ye Gods, a new Number perusing — 
Art. 1— "On the Needle's variations," by PI — e; 



92 



Art. 2 — By her fav'rite Fun-blank* — "so amusing! 
"Dear man! he makes Poetry quite a Law case." 

Art. 3 — "-Upon Fallacies," Jeremy's own; — 
(Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find readers); — 

Art. 4 — "Upon Honesty," author unknown; — 
Art. 5 — (by the young Mr. M-— ) "Hints to 
Breeders*" . 

Oh, Sultan, oh Sultan, though oft for the bag 

And the bowstring, like thee, I am tempted to call — 
Though drowning's too good for each blue-stocking 

hag, 
I would bag this she Benthamite first of them all ! 

And, lest she should ever again lift her head 
From the watery bottom, her clack to renew, — 

As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, 

I would hang round her neck her own darling 
Review. 

* This pains-taking gentleman has been at the trouble of 
counting, with the assistance of Cocker, the number of meta- 
phors in Moore's "Life of Sheridan," and has found them to 
amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235 — and some fractions. 



93 



CORN AND CATHOLICS. 



Utrum Horum 

Dirius horum? — Ixcerti Auctoris. 



What ! still those two infernal questions, 

That with our meals, our slumbers mix- 
That spoil our tempers and digestions — 
Eternal Corn and Catholics! 

Gods ! were there ever two such bores? 

Nothing else talk'd of night or morn — 
Nothing in doors, or out of doors, 

But endless Catholics and Corn! 

Never was such a brace of pests — 

While Ministers, still worse than either, 



94 



Skill'd but in feathering- their nests, 
Plague us with both, and settle neither. 

So addled in my cranium meet 
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt, 

Whether, this year, 't was bonded Wheat, 
Or bonded Papists, they let out. 

Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you, 
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up ; 

Prices and Texts at once assail you — 

From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.* 

And when you sleep, with head still torn 
Between the two, their shapes they mix, 

Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn, — 
Then Corn again seems Catholics. 

Now, Dantsic wheat before you floats — 
Now, Jesuits from California — 

* Author of the late Report on Foreign Corn. 



95 



Now Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, 

Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea.."* 

Oft, too, the Corn grows animate, 
And a whole crop of heads appears, 

Like Papists, bearding Church and State — 
Themselves, together by the ears! 

In short, these torments never cease; 

And oft I wish myself transferred off 
To some far, lonely land of peace, 

Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of. 

Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole; 

For — if my fate is to be chosen 
'Twixt bores and icebergs — on my soul, 

I 'd rather, of the two, be frozen ! 

* The Horn Gate, through which the ancients supposed all 
true dreams (such as those of the Popish Plot, &c.) to pass. 



96 



A CASE OF LIBEL. 
"The greater the truth, the worse the libel." 

A certain Sprite, who dwells below, 

('T were a libel, perhaps, to mention where) 

Came up incog., some years ago, 

To try, for a change, the London air. 

So well he look'd, and dress'd, and talk'd, 
And hid his tail and horns so handy, 

Y ou 'd hardly have known him as he walk'd, 
From C — e, or any other dandy. 

His horns, it seems, are made V unscrew ; 

So, he has but to take them out of the socket, 
And — just as some fine husbands do — 

Conveniently clap them into his pocket.) 



\ 



97 



In short, he look'd extremely natty, 

And ev'n contrived— -to his own great wonder- 
By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, 

To keep the sulphurous hogo under. 

And so my gentleman hoof'd about, 

Unknown to all but a chosen few 
At White's and Crockford's, where, no doubt, 

He had many post-obits falling due. 

Alike a gamester and a wit, 

At night he was seen with Crockford's crew, 
At morn with learned dames would sit — 

So pass'd his time 'twixt black and blue. 

Some wished to make him an M. P., 

But, finding W-lks was also one, he 
Swore, in a rage> " he 'd be d — d, if he 

Would ever sit in one house with Johnny." 

9 



98 

At length, as secrets travel fast, 

And devils, whether he or she, 
Are sure to be found out at last, 

The affair got wind most rapidly. 

The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs 
Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers — 

Miss Paton's soon as Beelzebub's — 

Fired off a squib in the morning papers : 

4 'We warn good men to keep aloof 
i 'From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 

"With a fire-proof wig, and a cloven hoof 
"Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking out." 

Now, the Devil being a gentleman, 

Who piques himself on well-bred dealings, 

You may guess, when o'er these lines he ran, 
How much they hurt and shock' d his feelings. 



99 



Away he posts to a Man of Law, 

And 't would make you laugh could you have seen 
'em, 
As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, 

And 'twas "hail, good fellow, well met," between 
'em. 

Straight an indictment was preferr'd — 
And much the Devil enjoyed the jest, 

When, asking about the Bench, he heard, 
That, of all the Judges, his own was Best. 

In vain Defendant proffer'd proof 

That Plaintiff's self was the Father of Evil — 
Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the hoof, 

And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil. 

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 

And readers of virtuous Sunday papers) 

Found for the Plaintiff — on hearing which 
The Devil gave one of his loftiest capers. 



100 

For oh, 't was nuts to the Father of Lies 
(As this wily fiend is named in the Bible,) 

To find it settled by laws so wise, 

That the greater the truth, the worse the libel ! 




101 



LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT. 



*. 



Wanted — Authors of all-work, to job for the season, 
No matter which party, so faithful to neither; 

Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason, 
Can manage, like ******, to do without either. 

If in gaol, all the better for out-o'-door topics; 

Your gaol is for Travelers a charming retreat ; 
They can take a day's rule for a trip to the Tropics, 

And sail round the world, at their ease, in the Fleet. 

For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of schools — 
He can study high life in the King's Bench com- 
munity ; 
Aristotle could scarce keep him more within rules, 
And of place he, at least, must adhere to the unity. 

9* 



102 



Any lady or gentleman, come to an age 
To have good " Reminiscences" (three-score or 
higher,) 
Will meet with encouragement — so much per page, 
And the spelling and grammar both found by the 
buyer. 

No matter with what their remembrance is stock'd, 
So they '11 only remember the quantum desired; — 

Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes oct.. 

Prince twenty-four shillings, is all that 's required. 

They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeu-d'esprits, 
Like Dibbin, may tell of each farcical frolic; 

Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis,* 

That gingerbread-cakes always give them the colic. 



* This lady also favours us, in her Memoirs, with the address 
of those apothecaries, who have, from time to time, given her 
pills that agreed with her; always desiring that the pills should 
be ordered " comme pour elle." 



103 



Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets on Corn, 
By "Farmers" and "Landholders" — (worthies, 
whose lands 

Enclosed all in bow-pits, their attics adorn, 

Or, whose share of the soil may be seen on their hands.) 

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein, 

Sure of a market; should they, too, who pen 'em, 

Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh O'S — 11 — v — n,* 
Something extra allow'd for th' additional venom. 

Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance, 
All excellent subjects for turning a penny;— 

To write upon all is an author's sole chance 

For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any. 

Nine times out of ten, if his title is good, 

The material within of small consequence is; — 



* A gentleman, who distinguished himself by his evidence 
before the Irish Committees. 



104 

Let him only write fine, and, if not understood, 
Why, — that 's the concern of the reader, not his. 

Nota Bene — an Essay, now printing, to show, 

That Horace (as clearly as words could express it) 

Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages ago, 

When he wrote thus — " Quodcunque in Fund is, 
assess it."* 



* According- to the common reading-, " quodcunque infundis, 
acescit." 



105 



THE SLAVE. 

I heard, as I lay, a wailing sound, 

"He is dead — he is dead," the rumour flew; 

And I raised my chain, and turn'd me round, 

And ask'd, through the dungeon-window, "Who?" 

I saw my livid tormentors pass; 

Their grief 't was bliss to hear and see I 1 
For, never came joy to them, alas, 

That did n't bring deadly bane to me. 

Eager I look'd through the mist of night, 

And ask'd, " What foe of my race hath died? 
"Is it he — that Doubter of law and right, 
"Whom nothing but wrong could e'er decide — 

* Who, long as he sees but wealth to win, 
"Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt 



106 

a What suitors for justice he 'd keep in, 
" Or what suitors for freedom he'd shut out — 

"Who, a clog for ever on Truth's advance, 
" Stifles her (like the Old Man of the Sea 

"Round Sinbad's neck,*) nor leaves a chance 
"Of shaking him oif is 't he? is 't he? 

Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled, 
And thrusting me back to my den of woe, 

With a laughter even more fierce and wild 
Than their funeral howling, answer'd "No." 

But the cry still pierced my prison-gate, 
And again I ask'd, "What scourge is gone? 

"Is it he — that Chief, so coldly great, 
a Whom Fame unwillingly shines upon — 

* " You fell, said they, into the hands of the Old Man of the 
Sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious 
tricks." — Story of Sinbad. 



107 

44 Whose name is one of th' ill-omen'd words 
"They link with hate, on his native plains; 

"And why? — they lent him hearts and swords, 
"And he, in return, gave scoffs and chains! 

"Is it he? is it he?" I loud inquired, 
When, hark?— there sounded a Royal knell; 

And I knew what spirit had just expired, 
And, slave as I was, my triumph fell. 

He had pledged a hate unto me and mine, 
He had left to the future no hope nor choice, 

But seal'd that hate with a Name Divine, 

And he now was dead, and — -I could n't re- 
joice! 

He had fann'd afresh the burning brands 

Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim; 
He had arm'd anew my torturers' hands, 

And them did I curse — but sigh'd for him. 



108 

For, his was the error of head, not heart, 
And — oh, how beyond the ambush'd foe, 

Who to enmity adds the traitor's part, 
And carries a smile, with a curse below ! 

If ever a heart made bright amends 
For the fatal fault of an erring head — 

Go, learn his fame from the lips of friends, 
In the orphan's tear be his glory read. 

A Prince without pride, a man without guile, 
To the last unchanging, warm, sincere, 

For Worth he had ever a hand and smile, 
And for Misery ever his purse and tear. 

Touch'd to the heart by that solemn toll, 
I calmly sunk in my chains again; 

While, still as I said "Heaven rest his soul!" 
My mates of the dungeon sigh'd "Amen!" 
January, 1827. 



109 



ODE TO FERDINAND. 

Quit the sword, thou King of men, 
Grasp the needle once again ; 
Making petticoats is far 
Safer sport than making war; — 
Trimming is a better thing, 
Than the being trimm'd, oh King ! 
Grasp the needle bright, with which 
Thou didst for the Virgin stitch 
Garment, such as ne'er before 
Monarch stitch'd or Virgin wore. 
Not for her, oh semster nimble ! 
Do I now invoke thy thimble; 
Not for her thy wanted aid is, 
But for certain grave old ladies, 
Who now sit in England's cabinet, 
Waiting to be clothed in tabinet, 
10 



110 

Or whatever choice etoffe is 
Fit for Dowagers in office. 

First, thy care, oh King, devote 

To Dame Eld-n's petticoat. 

Make it of that silk, whose dye 

Shifts for ever to the eye, 

Just as if it hardly knew 

Whether to be pink or blue. 

Or — material fitter yet — 

If thou could'st a remnant get 

Of that stuff, with which, of old, 

Sage Penelope, we 're told, 

Still, by doing and undoing, 

Kept her suitors always wooing — 

That's the stuff which, I pronounce, is 

Fittest for Dame Eld-n's flounces. 

After this, we '11 try thy hand, 
Mantua-making Ferdinand, 



Ill 

For old Goody W — stm — 1 — d; 
One who loves, like Mother Cole, 
Church and State with all her soul; 
And has pass'd her life in frolics 
Worthy of your Apostolics. 
Choose, in dressing this old flirt, 
Something that won't show the dirt, 
As, from habit, every minute 
Goody W — stm — 1 — d is in it. 

This is all I now shall ask, 
Hie thee, monarch, to thy task; 
Finish Eld-n's frills and borders, 
Then return for further orders. 
Oh what progress for our sake, 
Kings in millinery make ! 
Ribands, garters, and such things, 
Are supplied by other Kings — 
Ferdinand his rank denotes 
By providing petticoats. 



112 



HAT versus WIG. 

" At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eld-n, in order 
to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon his hat during 
the whole of the ceremony." 

— metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. 

'Twixt Eld-n's Hat and Eld-n's Wig 

There lately rose an altercation, — 
Each with its own importance big, 

Disputing which most serves the nation. 

Quoth Wig, with consequential air, 
" Pooh ! pooh ! you surely can't design, 

" My worthy beaver, to compare 
" Your station in the state with mine. 

" Who meets the learned legal crew ? 
- " Who fronts the lordly Senate's pride ? 



113 

« The Wig, the Wig, my friend — while you 
" Hang dangling on some peg outside. 

" Oh, *t is the Wig, that rules, like Love, 
" Senate and Court, with like eclat — 

* And wards below, and lords above, 

" For Law is Wig and Wig is Law !* 

" Who tried the long, Long W suit, 

" Which tried one's patience, in return ? 

" Not thou, oh Hat ! — though, couWst thou do't, 
Of other brims} than thine thou 'dst learn. 

" T was mine our master's toil to share; 
" When, like 'Truepenny,' in the play,} 

* " Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 

And men below and gods above, 
For Love is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love. ,, — Scott. 
-J- " Brim — a naughty woman." — Grose. 
\ " Ghost [beneath.]— Swear! 

" Hamlet.— -Ha, ha ! say'st thou so ? Art thou there, True- 
penny ? Come on." 

10* 



114 

" He, every minute, cried out ' Swear,' 
" And merrily to swear went they;* — 

" When, loth poor W to condemn, he 

" With nice discrimination weigh'd, 

"Whether 't was only ' Hell and Jemmy,* 
" Or * Hell and Tommy' that he play'd. 

" No, no, my worthy beaver, no — 

" Though cheapened at the cheapest hatter's, 
;t And smart enough, as beavers go, 

" Thou ne'er wert made for public matters." 

Here Wig concluded his oration, 

Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise; 

While thus, full cock'd for declamation, 
The veteran Hat enraged replies: — 

" Ha ! dost thou then so soon forget 
" What thou, what England owes to me ? 

* His Lordship's demand for fresh affidavits was incessant. 



115 

"Ungrateful Wig! — when will a debt, 
"So deep, so vast, be owed to thee? 

"Think of that night, that fearful night, 
" When, through the steaming vault below, 

rt Our master dared, in gout's despite, 
a To venture his podagric toe 1 

" Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 
" When thou hadst to thy box sneak'd off, 
" Beneath his feet protecting lay, 

u And saved him from a mortal cough ? 

"Think, if Catarrh had quench'd that sun, 
"How blank this world had been to thee! 

"Without that head to shine upon, 
"Oh Wig, where would thy glory be? 

"You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope 

" Of Church and State been ravish'd from ye, 



116 



4< Oh think, how Canning and the Pope 

" Would then have play'd up ' Hell and Tommy !' 

" At sea, there 's but a plank, they say, 

"'Twixt seamen and annihilation; — 
"A Hat, that awful moment, lay 

a 'Twixt England and Emancipation ! 

«Oh! ! ! '* 

At this "Oh ! ! !" The Times' Reporter 
Was taken poorly, and retired; 
Which made him cut Hat's rhetoric shorter 
Than justice to the case required. 

On his return, he found these shocks 

Of eloquence all ended quite; 
And Wig lay snoring in his box, 

And Hat was — hung up for the night.. 



117 



THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS. 



A SALMAGUNDIAN HYMN. 



"To Panurge was assigned tlie Lairdship of" Salmagundi, 
which was yearly worth 6,789,106,789 ryals, besides the revenue 
of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting one year with another 
to the value of 2,435,768, &c. &c."— Rabelais. 



* Hurra! hurra!" I heard them say, 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the way, 
As the Laird of Salmagundi went, 
To open in state his Parliament. 

The Salmagundians once were rich, 

Or thought they were — no matter which — 



118 

For, every year, the Revenue* 
From their Periwinkles larger grew; 
And their rulers, skill'd in all the trick 
And legerdemain of arithmetic, 
Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4, 

5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 
Such various ways, behind, before, 
That they made a unit seem a score, 

And proved themselves most wealthy men ! 
So, on they went, a prosperous crew, 

The people wise, the rulers clever, — 
And God help those, like me and you, 
Who dared to doubt (as some now do) 
That the Periwinkle Revenue 

Would thus go flourishing on for ever. 

"Hurra! hurra!" I heard them say, 
And they cheer'd and shouted all the way, 

* Accented as in Swift's line — 

"Not so a nation's revenues are paid." 



119 

As the Great Panurge in glory went 
To open his own dear Parliament. 

But folks at length began to doubt 
What all this conjuring was about; 
For, every day, more deep in debt 
They saw their wealthy rulers get: — 
" Let 's look (said they) the items through, 
" And see if what we 're told be true 
"Of our Periwinkle Revenue." 
But, lord ! they found there was n't a tittle 

Of truth in aught they heard before; 
For, they gain'd by Periwinkles little, 

And lost by Locusts ten times more ! 
These Locusts are a lordly breed 
Some Salmagundians love to feed. 
Of all the beasts that ever were born, 
Your Locusts most delight in corn; 
And, though his body be but small, 
To fatten him takes the dev'l and all! 



120 

" Oh fie? oh fie!" was now the cry, 
As they saw the gaudy show go by, 
And the Laird of Salmagundi went 
To open his Locust Parliament ! 



121 



NEW CREATION OF PEERS. 



BATCH THE FIRST. 



*' His 'prentice han' 
" He trjed on man, 
"And then he made the lasses." 



** And now," quoth the Minister, (eased of his panics, 
And ripe for each pastime the summer affords,) 

a Having had our full swing- at destroying mechanics 
** By way of set-off, let us make a few Lords. 

** 'Tis pleasant — while nothing but mercantile frac- 
tures, 
rt Some simple, some compound., is dinn'd in our 
ears — 

11 



122 



" To think that, though robb'd of all coarse manu- 
factures, 
"We still keep our fine manufacture of Peers; — 

** Those Gobelin productions, which Kings take a 
pride 
" In engrossing the whole fabrication and trade of; 
u Choice tapestry things, very grand on one side, 
u But showing, on t'other* what rags they are 
made of." 

The plan being fix'd, raw material was sought, 
No matter how middling, if Tory the creed be; 

And first — to begin with — Squire W , 't was 

thought, 
For a Lord was as raw a material as need be. 

Next came, with his penchant for painting and pelf, 
The tasteful Sir Charles, so renown'd, far and 
near, 



123 

For purchasing pictures, and selling himself, 
And both (as the public well knows) very dear. 

Beside him Sir John comes, with equal eclat, in; — 
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for titles we measure 
ye; 

Both connoisseur baronets, both fond of drawing, 
Sir John, after nature, Sir Charles, on the treasury. 

But, bless us ! — behold a new candidate come — 
In his hand he upholds a prescription, new written; 

He poiseth a pill-box 'twixt finger and thumb, 

And he asketh a seat 'mong the Peers of Great 
Britain ! ! 

u Forbid it," cried Jenky, 4< ye Viscounts, ye Earls! — 
" Oh Rank, how thy glories would fall disenchanted, 

" If coronets glisten'd with pills 'stead of pearls, 
" And the strawberry-leaves were by rhubarb sup- 
planted ! 



124 



« No— ask it not, ask it not, dear Doctor H — If— rd — 
tf If nought but a Peerage can gladden thy life, 

" And young Master H — If — rd as yet is too small for 't, 
il Sweet Doctor, we '11 make a she Peer of thy wife. 

* Next to bearing a coronet on our own brows 

u Is to bask in its light from the brows of another; 

rt And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy spouse, 
"As o'er Vesey Fitzgerald 't will shine through 
his mother."* 

Thus ended the First Batch — and Jenky, much tired, 
(It being no joke to make Lords by the heap,) 

Took a large dram of ether — the same that inspired 
His speech against Papists — and prosed off to sleep. 



* Among- the persons mentioned as likely to be raised to the 
Peerage are the mother of Mr. Vesey Fitzgerald, &c. 



125 



SPEECH ON THE UMBRELLA* 
QUESTION. 

BY LORD ELD— N.* 
" Vos inumbrelles video, "f — Ex Juvenil. Georgii Canningii. 

My Lords, I 'm accused of a trick that, God knows, is 
The last into which, at my age, I could fall — 

Of leading this grave House of Peers, by their noses, 
Wherever I choose, princes, bishops, and all. 

• A case which interested the public very much at this period. 
A gentleman, of the name of Bell, having- left his umbrella behind 
him in the House of Lords, the doorkeepers (standing 1 , no doubt, 
on the privileges of that noble body) refused to restore it to him; 
and the above speech, which may be considered as a pendant to 
that of the Learned Earl on the Catholic Question, arose out of 
the transaction. 

■f- From Mr. Canning's translation of Jekyl's — 
" 1 say, my good fellows, 
"As you 've no umbrellas." 

11* 



126 



My Lords, on the question before us at present, 
No doubt I shall hear, a 't is that cursed old fellow, 

rt That bugbear of all that is lib'ral and pleasant, 
M Who won't let the Lords give the man his um- 
brella !" 

God forbid that your Lordships should knuckle to me; 

I am ancient — but were I as old as King Priam, 
Not much, I confess, to your credit 't would be, 

To mind such a twaddling old Trojan as I am. 

I own, of our Protestant laws I am jealous, 

And, long as God spares me, will always maintain, 

That, once having taken men's rights, or umbrellas, 
We ne'er should consent to restore them again. 

What security have you, ye Bishops and Peers, 
If thus you give back Mr. Bell's parapluie,. 

That hemay n't, with its stick, come about all your ears, 
And then — where would your Protestant periwigs be? 



127 



No, heav'n be my judge, were I dying to-day, 

Ere I dropp'd in the grave, like a medlar that's 
mellow, 
li For God's sake" — at that awful moment I 'd say— 
"For God's sake, don't give Mr. Bell his um- 
brella." 



["This address," says a ministerial journal, "delivered with 
amazing emphasis and earnestness, occasioned an extraordinary 
sensation in the House. Nothing- since the memorable address of 
the Duke of York has produced so remarkable an impression."] 



128 



A PASTORAL BALLAD. 



BY JOHN BULL. 



Dublin, March 12, 1827.— Friday, after the arrival of the 
packet bringing the account of the defeat of the Catholic Ques- 
tion, in the House of Commons, orders were sent to the Pig-eon 
House to forward 5,000,000 rounds of musket-ball cartridge to 
the different garrisons round the country. — Freeman's Journal. 



I have found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that will surely content her, 

Sweet pledge of a love so endearing! 
Five millions of bullets I 've sent her. 

She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, 
But ill she her wants understood; — 

Ball cartridges, morning and night, 
Is a dose that will do her more good. 



129 

There is hardly a day of our lives 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 

How husbands make love to their wives 

Through the medium of hemp and of phials. 

One thinks, with his mistress or mate 

A good halter is sure to agree — 
That love-knot which, early and late, 

I have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 

While another, whom Hymen has bless'd 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest, 
With a dose of the best Prussic acid 1 . 

Thus, Erin ! my love do I show — 
Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! 
And, as poison and hemp are too slow, 
Do thy business with bullets instead. 



130 

Should thy faith in my medicine be shaken, 
Ask R — d — n, that mildest of saints; 

He'll tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, 
Alone can remove thy complaints ; — 

That, blest as thou art in thy lot, 

Nothing 's wanted to make it more pleasant 
But being hang'd, tortured, and shot,. 

Much oft'ner than thou art at present. 

Even W — 11 — t — n's self hath averr'd 
Thou art yet but half sabred and hung, 

And I loved him the more when I heard 
Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 

So take the five millions of pills, 
Dear partner, I herewith inclose; 

'Tis the cure that all quacks for thy ills, 
From Cromwell to Eld — n, propose. 



131 

And you, ye brave bullets that go, 
How I wish that, before you set out, 

The Devil of the Freischutz could know 
The good work you are going about. 

For he 'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, 

Into such supernatural wit, 
That you 'd all of you know, as you sped, 

Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 



132 



A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE.* 

Regnis ex-suI ademtis. — Yikg. 

To Swanage, — that neat little town, in whose bay 
Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver slippers, — 

Lord Bag's took his annual trip t'other day, 

To taste the sea breezes, and chat with the dippers. 

There — learn'd as he is in conundrums and laws — 
Quoth he to his dame (whom he oft plays the wag on,) 

" Why are chancery suitors like bathers?" — " Because 
Their suits are put off, till — they haven't a rag on." 



* A small bathing place on the coast of Dorsetshire, long a 
favourite summer resort of the ex-nobleman in question, and, till 
this season, much frequented also by gentlemen of the church. 



133 



Thus on he went chatting, — but, lo, while he chats, 
With a face full of wonder around him he looks; 

For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats, 
Who used to flock round him at Swanage like 
rooks. 

"How is this, Lady Bags? — to this region aquatic 
"Last year they came swarming, to make me their 
bow, 
4< As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of Carnatic, 
"Deans, Rectors, D.D.'s — where the dev'l are they 
now?" 

"My dearest Lord Bags!" saith his dame, "can you 
doubt? 
"I am loth to remind you of things so unpleasant; 
"But don't you perceive, dear, the Church have found 
out 
" That you're one of the people call'd Ex's, at 
present?" 

12 



134 



"Ah, true — you have hit it — I am, indeed, one 

4< Of those ill-fated Ex^s (his Lordship replies,) 
u And with tears, I confess, — God forgive me the 
pun ! — 
"We X's have proved ourselves not to be Y's." 
September, 1827. 



135 



WO ! WO ! * 

Wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it, — 
That beautiful Light, which is now on its way; 

Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of Belturbet, 
Now brightens sweet Ballinafad with its rayl 

Oh F — rnh — m, Saint F — rah— m, how much do we 
owe thee ! 

How formM to all tastes are thy various employs ! 
The old, as a catcher of Catholics, know thee, 

The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. 

Wo, wo to the man, who such doings would smother!— 
On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of Kilgroggy ! 

* Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Ch — st — r on the 
subject of the New Reformation in Ireland, in which his Lord- 
ship denounced "Wo! Wo! Wo!" pretty abundantly on all 
those who dared to interfere with its progress. 



136 



With whip in one hand, and with Bible in t' other, 
Like Mungo's tormentor, both "preachee and 
floggee." 

Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his way ; 

Come, L — rt— n, who, scorning profane erudition, 
Popp'd Shakspeare, they say, in the river, one day, 

Though 't was only old Bowdler's Velluti edition. 

Come, R-den, who doubtest, — so mild are thy views,-— 
Whether Bibles or bullets are best for the nation; 

Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to choose, 
'Twixt good old Rebellion and new Reformation. 

What more from her Saints can Hibernia require ? 

St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful daughter, 
Supplied her, 't is said, with perpetual fire,* 

And Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot water. 

* The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare. 



137 



Wo, wo to the man, who would check their career, 
Or stop the Millennium, that's sure to await us, 

When, bless'd with an orthodox crop every year, 
We shall learn to raise Protestants, fast as potatoes. 

In kidnapping Papists, our rulers,, we know, 
Had been trying their talent for many a day; 

Till F-rnh-m, when all had been tried, came to show, 
Like the German flea-catcher, " anoder goot way." 

And nothing's more simple than F-rah-m's receipt; — 
"Catch your Catholic, first— soak him well in^o- 
teen* — 
* Add salary sauce,t and the thing is complete. 
" You may serve up your Protestant, smoking and 
clean." 



* Whiskey. 

•j- " We understand that several applications have lately been 
made to the Protestant clergymen of this town by fellows, in- 
quiring * What are they giving a head for converts ?' "■ — Wexford 
Post. 

12* 



138 



"Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such 
cookery 1" 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow* 
Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery 

Open'd their bills, and re-echo'd " Wo, wo ! 1" 



* Of the Rook species — Corvus frugilegus, i. e. a great con- 
sumer of corn. 



139 



TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. 

" If, in China or among the natives of India, we claimed civil 
advantages which were connected with religious usages, little as 
we might value those forms in our hearts, we should think com- 
mon decency required us to abstain from treating them with of- 
fensive contumely; and, though unable to consider them sacred, 
we would not sneer at the name of Fot, or laugh at the imputed 
divinity of Visthnou." — Courier, Tuesday, Jan. 16. 

Come, take my advice, never trouble your cranium, 
When "civil advantages" are to be gain'd, 

What god or what goddess may help to obtain you 'em, 
Hindoo or Chinese, so they 're only obtain'd. 

In this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) 
All the good things to good hypocrites fall ; 

And he, who in swallowing creeds is particular, 
Soon will have nothing to swallow at all. 

Oh place me where Fo, or, as some call him, Fot, 
Is the god, from whom " civil advantages" flow, 



140 



And you'll find, if there's any thing snug to be got, 
I shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. 

Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, 
Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, 

I own I should feel it unchristian and odd 

Not to find myself also in Vishnu's good graces. 

For oh, of all gods that humanely attend 

To our wants in this planet, the gods to my wishes 

Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend 
In the form, so attractive, of loaves and of fishes!* 

So take my advice — for, if even the devil 

Should tempt men again as an idol to try him, 

'T were best for us Tories, even then, to be civil, 
As nobody doubts we should get something by him. 



* "Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) " a piscifbrm god/ 
— his first Avatar being in the shape of a fish. 



141 



ENIGMA. 



Monstrum nulla virtute redetnptum. 



Come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, 

(And tell me what my name may be. 
I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, 

And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; — 
Though a dwarf in my youth, (as my nurses have told,) 
I have,ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my clothesj 
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, 

That, if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, 
It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land 

But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot. 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my 
stature, 
To cover me nothing but rags will supply; 



142 



And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature, 

About the year 30 in rags I shall die. 
Meanwhile, I stalk hungry and bloated around, 

An object of interest, most painful, to all; 
In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I 'm found, 
Holding citizen* peasant, and king in my thrall. 
Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree, 
Come,, tell me what my name may be. 

When the lord of the counting house bends o'er his 
book, 

Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw; 
O'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs I look, 

And down drops the pen from his paralyzed paw ! 
When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo, 

And expects through another to caper and prank it, 
You 'd laugh did you see when I bellow out "Boo!" 

How he hides his brave Waterloo head in the 
blanket. 
When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall 

His cup, full of gout, to the Gaul's overthrow, 



143 



Lo, "Eight Hundred Millions" I write on the wall, 

And the cup falls to earth and — the gout to his toe! 
But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram 

My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's acres, 
And, knowing who made me the thing that I am, 
Like the monster of Frankenstein, worry my makers. 
Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, 
And tell, if thou knowest, who / may be. 



144 



DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. 



EY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. 



"Vox clamantis in deserto." 



Said Malthus, one day, to a clown 

Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the sun, — 

"What is the number of souls in this town!" — 
" The number! Lord bless you, there 's none. 

"We have nothing but dabs in this place, 
"Of Mem a great plenty there are; — 

"But the soles, please your rev'rence and grace, 
"Are all t' other side of the bar." 

And so 't is in London just now, 

Not a soul to be seen, up or down; — 



145 

Of dabs a great glut, I allow, 

But your soles, every one, out of town. 

East or west, nothing wond'rous or new; 

No courtship or scandal, worth knowing; 
Mrs. B , and a Mermaid* or two, 

Are the only loose fish that are going. 

Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, 
That, some weeks ago, kept us merry? 

Where, Eld — n, art thou, with thy tears? 
And thou, with thy sense, L — d — d — y? 

Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, 
In the dog-days, with thee must be puzzled !- 

It being his task to take care 

That such animals sha'n't go unmuzzled. 

Thou, too, whose political toils 

Are so worthy a captain of horse, — 

* One of the shows of London. 



146 

Whose amendments* (like honest Sir Boyle's) 
Are "amendments, that make matters worse;"^ 

Great Chieftain, who takest such pains 
To prove — what is granted, nem. con* — 

With how mod'rate a portion of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 

And, thou, too, my R — d — sd — e, ah, where 

Is the peer, with a star at his button, 
Whose quarters could ever compare 

With R— d — sd — e's five quarters of mutton \\ 

Why, why have ye taken your flight, 
Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 

* More particularly his Grace's celebrated amendment to the 
Corn Bill. 

f From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish House of 
Commons. 

£ The learning- his Lordship displayed, on the subject of the 
butcher's "fifth quarter" of mutton, will not speedily be for- 
gotten. 



147 

How ill do three farces a night, 
At the Hay market, pay us for you t 

For, what is Bombastes to thee, 

My Ell — nbro', when thou look'st big ? 

Or, where *s the burletta can be 

Like L — d — rd — e's wit — and his wig? 

I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof * could 

(Though Griffin >s a comical lad) 
Invent any joke half so good 

As that precious one, "This is too bad!" 

Then come again, come again, Spring 1 
Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train; 

And — of all things the funniest — bring 
These exalted Grimaldis again ! 

* The nam de guerre under which Colman has written some of 
his best farces. 



148 



THE "LIVING DOG" AND THE "DEAD 
LION." 



Next week will be published (as "Lives" are the 
rage) 

The whole Reminiscences, wond'rous and strange, 
Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage 

Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. 

Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call " sad," 
'T is a puppy that much to good breeding pretends j 

And few dogs have such opportunities had 

Of knowing how Lions behave — among friends; 

How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, 
Is all noted down by this Boswell so small; 

And 't is plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog 
thinks 
That the Lion was no such great things after all. 



149 



Though he roar'd pretty well — this the puppy allow 
It was all, he says, borrow'd — all second-hand roar; 

And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows 
To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. 

'T is, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask, 
To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits 

Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, 
And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. 

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) 
With sops every day from the Lion's own pan, 

He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, 
And — does all a dog, so diminutive, can. 

However, the book 's a good book r being rich in 
Examples and warnings to lions high-bred, 

How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen 

Who '11 feed on them living, and foul them when 

dead. 

T, PIDCOCK. 

Exeter * Change. 

13* 



150 



ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 



Et tu, Brute.' 



WhatI Miguel, not patriotic? oh, fyi 

After so much good teaching 't is quite a take-in, 
Sir ; 
First school'd, as you were, under Metternich's eye, 
And then (as young misses say) "finish'd" at 
Windsor ! 

I ne'er in my life new a case that was harder;-— 
Such feasts as you had, when you made us a call ! 

Three courses each clay from His Majesty's larder, — 
And now, to turn absolute Don, after all!! 

Some authors, like Bayes, to the style and the matter 
Of each thing they write suit the way that they dine, 



151 



Roast sirloin for Epic, broil'd devils for Satire, 
And hotchpotch and trifle for rhymes such as mine. 

That Rulers should feed the same way, I 've no 
doubt ;— 

Great Despots on bouilli served up a la Busse,* 
Your small German Princes on frogs and sour crout. 

And your Vice-roy of Hanover always on goose. 

Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may be 
fable) 
A dish rather dear, if, in cooking, they blunder it; — 
Not content with the common hot meat on a table, 
They're partial (eh, Mig?) to a dish of cold under 
itlf 

* Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits, — a favourite dish 
of the Great Frederick of Prussia, and which he persevered in 
eating even on his death-bed, much to the horror of his physician 
Zimmerman. 

f This quiet case of murder, with all its particulars, — the 
hiding the body under the dinner-table, &c. &.c. — is, no doubt, 
well known to the reader. 



152 



No wonder a Don of such appetites found 
Even W-nds-r's collations plebeianly plain; 

Where the dishes most high that my Lady sends round 
Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup a la Heine. 

Alas, that a youth with such charming beginnings, 
Should siuk, all at once, to so sad a conclusion, 

And, what is still worse, throw the losings and win- 
nings 
Of worthies on 'Change into so. much, confusion ! 

The Bulls, in hysterics — the Bears, just as bad — 
The few men who have,, and the many who 've not 
tick, 

All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, 
Prince Metternich's pupil, is — not patriotic ! 



153 



THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOVERN- 
MENT OF IRELAND. 

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, 
Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride 
Two stately steeds, — standing, with graceful straddle, 
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle, 
While to soft tunes, — some jigs, and some andantes, — 
He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes. 

So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant, 
That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present ; — 
Papist and Protestant the coursers twain, 
That lend their necks to his impartial rein, 
And round the ring, — each honoured, as they go, 
With equal pressure from his gracious toe, — 
To the old medley tune, half u Patrick's Day" 
And half "Boyne Water," take their cantering way, 



154 



While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks 
His long-lash'd whip, to cheer the doubtful hacks. 

Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! 
How blest, if neither steed would bolt or start; — 
If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone, 
And Papist's winkers could be still kept on ! 
But no, false hopes, — not ev'n the great Ducrow 
? Twix.t two. such steeds could 'scape an overthrow : 
If solar hacks play'd Phaeton a trick, 
What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic? 

If once my Lord his graceful balance loses, 

Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses; 

If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip 

To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear-tip, — 

That instant ends their glorious horsemanship ! 

Off bolt the sever'd steeds, for mischief free, 

And down, between them, plumps Lord Anglesea ! 



155 



THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS. 



A DREAM. 



*' Cio che si perde qui, la si raguna." — Ariosto. 

<l a valley, where he sees 

"Things that on earth were lost." — Milton. 



Know'st thou not him* the poet sings, 
Who flew to the moon's serene domain, 

And saw that valley, where all the things, 
That vanish on earth, are found again — 

The hopes of youth, the resolves of age, 

The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage, 

The golden visions of mining cits, 

The promises great men strew about them ; 

* Astolpho. 



156 

And, pack'd in compass small, the wits 

Of monarchs, who rule as well without them ! — 
Like him, but diving with wing profound, 
I have been to a Limbo under ground, 
Where characters lost on earth, (and cried, 
In vain, like H — rr — s's, far and wide) 
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown, 
And there, so worthless and fly-blown 
That even the imps would not purloin them, 
Lie, till their worthy owners join them. 

Curious it was to see this mass 

Of lost and torn-up reputations ; — 
Some of them female wares, alas, 

Mislaid at innocent assignations ; 
Some, that had sigh'd their last amen 

From the canting lips of saints that would be ; 
And some once own'd by a the best of men," 

Who had proved — no better than they should be. 



157 

'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, 

Once shining fair, now soaked and black — 

"No wonder," (a dev'l at my elbow cried) 
"For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack!" 

Just then a yell was heard o'er head, 

Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons; 

And lo, an imp right downward sped, 

Bringing, within his claws so red, 

Two statesmen's characters, found, he said, 

Last night, on the floor of the House of Commons; 

The which, with black official grin, 

He now to the Chief Imp handed in; — 

Both these articles much the worse 
For their journey down, as you may suppose. 

But one so devilish rank — "Odd's curse !" 
Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose. 

<k Ho, ho!" quoth he, "I know full well 
"From whom these two stray matters fell;" 

14 






158 



Then, casting away, with a loathful shrug, 

Th' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug 

TV Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd,) 

His eyes on the other gravely fix'd, 

And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye, 

To be moral, because of the young imps by, 

44 What a pity!" he cried — "so fresh its gloss, 

* So long preserved — 't is a public loss! 
"This comes of a man, the careless blockhead, 
"Keeping his character in his pocket; 

"And there — without considering whether 
"There's room for that and his gains together — 
"Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away, 

* Till — out slips character some fine day ! 

''However" — and here he view'd it round — 

"This article still may pass for sound. 

" Some flaws, soon patch'd, some stains, are all 

"The harm it has had in its luckless fall. 

" Here, Puck!" — and he called to one of his train- 

a The owner may have this back again. 



159 



*' Though damaged for ever, if used with skill, 
"It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still; 
"Though the gem can never, as once, be set, 
"It will do for a Tory Cabinet." 



160 



HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. 



Qui facit per alium facit per se. 



'Mong our neighbours, the French, in the good olden 
time 
When Nobility flourish'd, great Barons and Dukes 
Often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme, 
But ne'er took the trouble to write their own 
books. 

Poor devils were found to do this for their betters; — 

And, one. day, a Bishop, addressing a Blue, 
Said, "Ma'am, have you read my new Pastoral 
Letters?" 
To which the Blue answer'd — "No, Bishop, have 
you?" 



161 



The same is now done by our privileged class; 

And, to show you how simple the process it needs, 
If a great Major-General* wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus he proceeds: — 

First, scribbling his own stock of notions as well 
As he can, with a goose-quill that claims him as kin. 

He settles his neck-cloth — takes snuff — rings the bell, 
And yawningly orders a Subaltern in. 

The Subaltern comes — sees his General seated, 
In all the self-glory of authorship swelling; — 
"There, look," saith his Lordship, "my work is 
completed, — 
"It wants nothing now, but the grammar and 
spelling." 

Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dreads 
Awkward breaches of syntax a hundred times more ; 

* Or Lieutenant-General, as it may happen to be. 

14* 



162 



And, though often condemn'd to see breaking of heads, 
He had ne'er seen such breaking of Priscian's before. 

However, the job 's sure to pay — that 's enough — 
So, to it he sets with his tinkering hammer, 

Convinced that there never was job half so tough 
As the mending a great Major-General's grammar. 

But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to view, — 
New toil for the Sub. — for the Lord new expense: 

'T is discover'd that mending his grammar won't do, 
As the Subaltern also must find him in sense! 

At last, — even this is achieved by his aid; 

Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and — the storyj 
Drums beat — the new Grand March of Intellect 's 
play'd — 

And off struts my Lord, the Historian, in glory ! 



163 



IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF DANTE. 



" Cosi quel fiato gli spirit! mali 

" Di qua, di la, di giu, di su gli mena." — Inferno, cant. 5. 



I turn'd my steps, and lo, a shadowy throng 

Of ghosts came fluttering tow'rds me, — blown along, 

Like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, 

By many a fitful gust that through their forms 

Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy puff, 

And puff'd as — though they 'd never puff enough. 

"Whence and what are ye?" pitying I inquired 
Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter'd, tost, and tired 
With such eternal puffing, scarce could stand 
On their lean legs while answering my demand. 
" We once were authors," — thus the Sprite, who led 
This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said, — 



164 



" Authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, 
"Who, early smit with love of praise and — pewter,* 

il On 's f shelves first saw the light of day, 

" In 's puffs exhaled our lives away, — 

" Like summer wind-mills, doom'd to dusty peace, 
" When the brisk gales, that lent them motion, cease. 
u Ah, little knew we then what ills await 
"Much-lauded scribblers in their after-state; 
"Bepuff'd on earth — how loudly Str — t can tell — 
u And, dire reward, now doubly puff'd in hell!" 

Touch'd with compassion for this ghastly crew, 
Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind sung through 
In mournful prose, — such prose as Rosa'sJ ghost 
Still, at th' accustom'd hour of eggs and toast, 
Sighs through the columns of the M — rn — g P — /,— 

* The classical term for money. 

■J- The reader may fill up this gap with any of the disyllabic 
publishers ot London that occurs to him. 

t Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the po- 
litical articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit still 
seems to preside — "regnat Rosa" — over its pages. 



165 

Pensive I turn'd to weep, when he, who stood 

Foremost of all that flatulential brood, 

Singling a s^e-ghost from the party, said, 

il Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z.,* 

? One of our letter' d nymphs — excuse the pun, — 

" Who gain'd a name on earth by — having none; 

" And whose initials would immortal be, 

f Had she but learn' d those plain ones, A. B. C. 

u Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, 
il Wrapp'd in his own dead rhymes, — fit winding- 
sheet, — 
6C Still marvels much that not a soul should care 
" One single pin to know who wrote ' May Fair;'—* 
4< While this young gentleman" (here forth he drew 
A dandy spectre, puff 'd quite through and through,, 
As though his ribs were an iEolian lyre 
For the whole Row's soft trade-winds to inspire,) 

* Not the charming L. E. L., and still less, Mrs. F. H., whose 
poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. 



166 

" This modest genius breath'd one wish alone, 
"To have his volume read, himself unknown; 
" But different far the course his glory took, 
" All knew the author, and — none read the book. 

" Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fur, 
"Who rides the blast, Sir J — n — h B — rr — t — n; — 
" In tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, 
" And now the wind returns the compliment. 

" This lady here, the Earl of 's sister, 

" Is a dead novelist; and this is Mister — 

" Beg pardon — Honourable Mister L — st — r, 

" A gentleman who, some weeks since, came over 

" In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. 

" Yonder behind us limps young Vivian Grey, 

" Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown away, — 

" Like a torn paper-kite, on which the wind 

" No further purchase for a puff can find." 

"And thou, thyself" — here, anxious, I exclaim'd, — 
"Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named." 



167 



" Me, Sir!" he blushing cried, — " Ah, there's the rub — 
" Know, then, — a waiter once at Brooks's Club, 
" A waiter still I might have long remain'd, 
4< And long the club-room's jokes and glasses drain'd; 
" But, ah, in luckless hour, this last December, 
" I wrote a book,* and Colburn dubb'd me i Mem- 
ber* — 
** 'Member of Brooks's 1' — oh Promethean puff, 
"To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen-stuff! 
" With crums of gossip, caught from dining wits, 

* And half-heard jokes, bequeath'd, like half-chew'd 

bits, 
4< To be, each night, the waiter's perquisites; — 
41 With such ingredients, served up oft before, 

* But with fresh fudge and fiction garnish'd o'er, 
" I managed, for some weeks, to dose the town, 

" Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down, 
" And, ready still even waiters' souls to damn, 

* The Devil but rang his bell, and — here I am; — 

* " History of the Clubs of London," announced as by "a 
Member of Brooks's." 



168 



"Yes — 'Coming up, Sir,' once my favourite cry, 
" Exchanged for 'Coming down, Sir,' here am I i" 

Scarce had the Spectre's lips these words let drop, 

When, lo, a breeze — such as from 's shop 

Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs prevail, 

And speeds the sheets and swells the lagging sale — 

Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, 

And, whirling him and all his grisly group 

Of literary ghosts, — Miss X. Y. Z., — 

The nameless author, better known than read — 

Sir Jo. — the Honourable Mr. L — st — r, 

And, last, not least, Lord Nobody's twin sister, — 

Blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and rhymes 

And sins about them, far into those climes 

** Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat"* in old times, 

Leaving me much in doubt, as on I prest, 

With my great master, through this realm unblest, 

Whether Old Nick or puffs the best. 

* A Dantesque allusion to the old saying-, "Nine miles be- 
yond H — 11, where Peter pitched his waistcoat." 



169 



LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD 
B ST'S TAIL * 

All in again — unlook'd for bliss ! 

Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss; 

One tender tie, attach'd so long 

To the same head, through right and wrong. 

Why, B— th — st, why didst thou cut off 

That memorable tail of thine? 
Why — as if one was not enough — 

Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, 
And thus, at once, both cut and run? 
Alas, my Lord, 't was not well done, 
'T was not, indeed, — though sad at heart, 
From office and its sweets to part, 

• The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off this much-re- 
spected appendage, on his retirement from office some months 
since. 

15 



170 

Yet hopes of coming in again, 

Sweet Tory hopes ! beguiled our pain ; 

But thus to miss that tail of thine, 

Through long, long years our rallying sign, — 

As if the State and all its powers 

By tenancy in tail were ours, — 

To see it thus by scissors fall, 

This was " th' unkindest cut of all !" 

It seem'd as though th' ascendant day 

Of Toryism had pass'd away, 

And, proving Sampson's story true, 

She lost her vigour with her queue. 

Parties are much like fish, 't is said, — 
The tail directs them, not the head ; 
Then, how could any party fail, 
That steer'd its course by B — th — st's tail ? 
Not Murat's plume, through Wagram's fight, 

E'er shed such guiding glories from it, 
As erst, in all true Tories' sight, 

Blazed from our old Colonial comet ! 



171 

If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, 

(As W — 11- — gt — n will be anon) 
Thou might'st have had a tail to spare; 

But no, alas, thou hadst but one, 

And that — like Troy, or Babylon, 

A tale of other times — is gone ! 

Yet — weep ye not, ye Tories true, — 

Fate has not yet of all bereft us; 
Though thus deprived of B — th — rst's queue, 

We 've E — 11 — nb — gh's curls still left us; — 
Sweet curls, from which young Love, so vicious, 
His shots, as from nine-pounders, issues; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, 
Surcharged with all a nation's fate, 
His Lordship shakes, as Homer's God did,* 

And oft in thundering talk comes near him; — 
Except that, there, the speaker nodded, 

And, here, 't is only those who hear him. 

* " Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod." 

Pope's Homer. 



172 

Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 

Of that fat cranium may ye flourish, 
With plenty of Macassar oil, 

Through many a year your growth to nourish ! 
And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath 

His barbarous shears such locks to sever, 
Still dear to Tories, even in death, 
Their last, loved relics we '11 bequeath, 

A hair-loom to our sons for ever. 



173 



THE CHERRIES. 



A PARABLE.* 



See those cherries, how they cover 

Yonder sunny garden wall; — 
Had they not that net-work over, 

Thieving birds would eat them all. 

So, to guard our posts and pensions, 

Ancient sages wove a net, 
Through whose holes, of small dimensions, 

Only certain knaves can get. 

Shall we then this net-work widen ? 
Shall we stretch these sacred holes, 

* Written during the late discussion on the Test and Corpo- 
ration Acts* 

15* 



174 

Through which, ev'n already, slide in 
Lots of small dissenting souls ? 

"God forbid!" old Testy crieth; 

"God forbid!*' so echo I; 
Every ravenous bird that flieth 

Then would at our cherries fly. 

Ope but half an inch or so, 

And, behold, what bevies break in; — 
Here, some curst old Popish crow 

Pops his long and lickerish beak in ; 

Here, sly Arians flock unnumber'd, 
And Socinians, slim and spare, 

Who, with small belief encumber'd, 
Slip in easy any where;— 

Methodists, of birds the aptest, 
Where there *s pecking going on ; 



175 

And that water-fowl, the Baptist, — 
All would share our fruits anon; 

Ev'ry bird, of ev'ry city, 

That, for years, with ceaseless din, 
Hath reversed the starling's ditty, 

Singing out "I can't get in" 

« God forbid !" old Testy snivels; 

« God forbid !" I echo too ; 
Rather may ten thousand d-v-ls 

Seize the whole voracious crew ! 

If less costly fruit won't suit 'em, 

Hips and haws and such like berries, 

Curse the corm'rants ! stone 'em, shoot 'em, 
Any thing — to save our cherries. 



176 



STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICIPATION 
OF DEFEAT.* 

Go seek for some abler defenders of wrong, 

If we must run the gantlet through blood and ex- 
pense ; 
Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude strong, 

Be content with success, and pretend not to sense. 

If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are vain, 
If Truth by the bow-string must yield up her breath, 

Let Mutes do the office, — and spare her the pain 
Of an In — gl — s or T — nd — 1 to talk her to death. 

Chain, persecute, plunder, — do all that you will, — 
But save us, at least, the old womanly lore 

* During the discussion of the Catholic Question in the House 
of Commons last session. 



177 



Of a F — st — r, who, duly prophetic of ill, 

Is, at once, the tw& instruments, augur* and bore. 

Bring legions of Squires — if they '11 only be mute — 
And array their thick heads against reason and right, 

Like the Roman of old, of historic repute,t 

Who with droves of dumb animals carried the fight; 

Pour out, from each corner and hole of the Court, 
Your Bedchamber lordlings, your salaried slaves, 

Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort, 
Have their consciences tack'd to their patents and 
staves. 

Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings* 

Are the Treasury's creatures* wherever they swim;J 

* This is more for the ear than the eye, as the carpenter's tool 
is spelt auger. 

f Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the enemy. 
t Res Fisci est, ubicumque natat. — Juvenal. 



178 



With all the base, time-serving toadies of Kings, 
Who, if Punch were the monarch, would worship 
ev'n him j 

And while, on the one side, each name of renown, 
That illumines and blesses our age is combined ; 

While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the Cannings look 
down, 
And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of Mind; 

Let bold Paddy H-lmes show his troops on the other, 
And, counting of noses the quantum desired, 

Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi's famed mother, 
" Come forward, my jewels" — 't is all that 's re- 
quired. 

And thus let your farce be enacted hereafter, — 
Thus honestly persecute, outlaw, and chain; 

But spare ev'n your victims the torture of laughter, 
And never, oh never, try reasoning again ! 



179 



ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS. 
BY ONE OF THE BOARD. 

Let other bards to groves repair, 

Where linnets strain their tuneful throats, 

Mine be the Woods and Forests, where 
The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. 

No whispering winds have charms for me, 

Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask; 
To raise the wind for Royalty 

Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task ! 

And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, 

And all such vulgar irrigation, 
Let Gallic rhino through our Woods 

Divert its " course of liquid-ation." 



180 

Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well 

What Woods and Forests ought to be, 

When, sly, he introduced in Hell 
His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree:* — 

Nor see I why, some future day, 

When short of cash, we should not send 

Our H — rr — s down — he knows the way — 
To see if Woods in hell will lend. 

Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts, 
Beneath whose 4< branches of expense" 

Our gracious K gets all he wants, — 

Except a little taste and sense. 

Long, in your golden shade reclined, 
Like him of fair Armida's bowers, 

May W n some wood-nymph find, 

To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours; 

* Called by Virgil, botanically, " species auri frondentis.' 



181 

To rest from toil the Great Untaught, 
And sooth the pangs his warlike brain 

Must suffer, when, unused to thought, 
It tries to think, and — tries in vain. 

Oh long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserved, in all their teeming graces, 

To shelter Tory bards, like me, 

Who take delight in Sylvan places ! * 



* Tu facis, ut silvaSy ut amem loca 

Ovid, 



36 



182 



STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF THE 
SHANNON. 



" Take back the virgin page." 

Moore's Irish Melodiet. 



No longer, dear V — sey, feel hurt and uneasy 
At hearing it said by thy Treasury brother, 

That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my V — sey, 
And he, the dear, innocent placeman, another. 

For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have done thee; — 
Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more; 

By St. Patrick, we 've scrawl'd such a lesson upon 
thee 
As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap before. 



183 



Come, — on with your spectacles, noble Lord Duke, 
(Or O'Connell has green ones he haply would lend 
you,) 
Read V — sey all o'er — as you can't read a book — 
And improve by the lesson we, bog-trotters, send 
you; 

A lesson, in large Roman characters traced, 

Whose awful impressions from you and your kin 

Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be effaced, — 
Unless, 'stead of paper, you 're sheer asses* skin. 

Shall I help you to construe it? ay, by the Gods, 
Could I risk a translation, you should have a rare 
one; 
But pen against sabre is desperate odds, 

And you, my Lord Duke, (as you hinted once,) 
wear one. 

Again and again I say, read V — sey o'er; — 

You will find him worth all the old scrolls of 
papyrus, 



184 



That Egypt e'er fill'd with nonsensical lore, 

Or the learned Champollion e'er wrote of, to tire us. 

All blank as he was, we 've retfurn'd him on hand, 
Scribbled o'er with a warning to Princes and Dukes, 

Whose plain, simple drift if they worCt understand, 
Though caress'd at St. James's, they 're fit for St. 
Luke's. 

Talk of leaves of the Sibyls! — more meaning con- 
vey'd is 

In one single leaf such as now we have spell'd on, 
Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the old ladies 

That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to Eld — n. 






185 



"IF" AND * PERHAPS/ 1 * 

Oh tidings of freedom! oh accents of hope! 

Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sea, 
And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope, 

From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. 

« //"mutely the slave will endure and obey, 

* Nor clanking his fetters, nor breathing his pains, 
il His masters, perhaps, at some far distant day, 

"May think (tender tyrants) of loosening his 
chains. " 

Wise tC if" and " perhaps!"— precious salve for our 
wounds, 
If he, who would rule thus o'er manacled mutes, 

• Written after hearing a celebrated speech in the House of 
Lords, June 10, 1828. 

16* 



186 



Could check the free spring-tide of Mind, that re- 
sounds, 
Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's. 

But, no, 't is in vain — the grand impulse is given, — 
Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will claim; 

And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, 
Be theirs, who have forged them, the guilt and the 
shame. 

il If the slave will be silent!" — vain Soldier, beware — 
There is a dead silence the wrong' d may assume, 

When the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair, 
But clings round the heart with a deadlier gloom; — 

When the blush, that long burn'd on the suppliant's 
cheek, 
Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute hue; 
And the tongue, that once threaten'd, disdaining to 
speak, 
Consigns to the arm the high office — to do. 



187 



If men, in that silence, should think of the hour, 
When proudly their fathers in panoply stood, 

Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of power 

To the despot on land and the foe on the flood; — 

That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the 
west, 

To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant alarms ; 
And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught the opprest, 

That kings are as dust before freemen in arms ! 

If awfuller still, the mute clave should recall 

That dream of his boyhood, when Freedom's sweet 

day 
At length seem'd to break through a long night of 

thrall, 
And Union and Hope went abroad in its ray; — 

If Fancy should tell him, that Day-spring of Good, 
Though swiftly its light died away from his chain, 



188 

Though darkly it set in a nation's best blood, 
Now wants but invoking to shine out again; — 

If — if I say — breathings like these should come o'er 
The chords of remembrance, and thrill, as they come, 

Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps — but I dare not say more; 
Thou hast will'd that thy slaves should be mute — I 
am dumb. 



189 



WRITE ON, WRITE ON. 



A BALLAD. 



Air — " Sleep o?i, sleep on, my Kathleen dear." 



Sal vet e, fratres Asini. — St. Francis. 



Write on, write on, ye Barons dear, 

Ye Dukes, write hard and fast; 
The good we've sought for many a year 

Your quills will bring at last. 
One letter more, N— wc — stle, pen, 

To match Lord K — ny — n's two, 
And more than Ireland's host of men, 

One brace of Peers will do. 

Write on, write on, Sec. 



190 

Sure, never, since the precious use 

Of pen and ink began, 
Did letters, writ by fools, produce 

Such signal good to man. 
While intellect, 'mong high and low, 

Is marching on, they say, 
Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, 

Like crabs, the other way. 

Write on, write on, &c. 



Ev'n now I feel the coming light, 

Ev'n now, could Folly lure 
My Lord M — ntc — sh — 1, too, to write, 

Emancipation's sure. 
By geese (we read in history) 

Old Rome was sav'd from ill; 
And now, to quills of geese, we see 

Old Rome indebted still. 

Write on, write on, &c. 






191 

Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to style, 

Nor beat for sense about, — 
Things, little worth a Noble's while, 

You 're better far without. 
Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, 

Such miracles were done; 
For, write but four such letters more, 

And Freedom's cause is won. 



TlfF, END. 



K.' n \ / 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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